


Hunting in the Dark

by snblab



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Basically an AU story with some content from the game, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Hunters & Hunting, Light Angst, Lucio (The Arcana) Being A Dick, Lucio (the Arcana) Route-ish, M/M, OC Being A Dick, Pre-Story, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, Swearing, Violence, but they come around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2020-11-22 09:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snblab/pseuds/snblab
Summary: When a hunter mistakes Melchior for a wolf and subsequently hurts the dog, she is dragged to the Palace and sentenced to death by the raging Count. However, having seen her hunt and her fight, he makes her a deal: die or become a mercenary for him. However, this spitfire might be more than he could control.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone notice that the Apprentice/Lucio ship is essentially just Beauty and the Beast? I mean, he literally was a beast. Anyways, this is not a Beauty and the Beast story - maybe the Hunter and the Asshole or the Slightly Less Dick and the Bigger Dick story. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.

“You shot my dog!”

This was rather unfortunate first impression, but, by the Gods, he had to be the most obnoxious man misfortune had ever forced to her meet. She shifted against the guards’ tight grips on her shoulders. Her knees ached.

“It looked like a wolf. How was I supposed to know it was a pet?”

Evidently, that wasn’t the right answer and the Count’s eyes flashed. He stormed towards her and backhanded her across the face with his golden glove. Her head whipped to the side, hair flying. He grabbed some of the strands and pulled down on them hard. Her eyes were forced to the ground. She spat out some blood onto the floor and wrinkled her nose. She hated the tickling feeling that traveled down her cheek.

“You should clean that up before it stains, ya know?” she said.

“How dare you—?” 

She lifted her head and stared at the fuming count. He was furious, wasn’t he? As he raged loudly overhead, she let her eyes wander the grandiose room. There was so much gold and red. It was a color scheme, but seeing how she preferred subdued colors, it was a bit harsh on the eyes. She caught sight of two long and proud white creatures in the corner, sulking. Dogs, she supposed, not wolves. Honestly, how was she supposed to tell the difference in the forest? She was a hunter. She did feel badly about the dog’s newly ripped ear, but at least she didn’t pierce his heart.

“Throw her in the dungeons until you can set up a hangman’s gallow.”

That snatched her attention. “Hey!” she said as the guards hauled her off her aching knees. “Listen here, you arrogant ass.” Lucio paused instantly in his spot, his body tight. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Those woods are outside of your jurisdiction, anything hunted there can’t be punished by death. Those are your own damn rules.”

He turned around slowly, cape brushing against the floor, as the ballroom descended into thick silence. Each step echoed as he crossed the floor towards her. She reflected his pride and stubbornness. 

“Who do you think you are?” he asked with deadly flatness. 

“I suppose an introduction is warranted,” she flashed him a sharp smile. “Aloween.”

“Aloween,” he repeated her name. “Now I know what to write when I send the death notices out.”

He waved his hand and the guards proceeded to drag her backwards out the hall. They were dozens of paces away from the entrance, and she flailed and lashed out the whole way there. One hand slipped off her shoulder and she grinned wildly, using the newfound flexibility to wrap her hand around his neck. She pulled her arm in close, quickly and harshly. His body bent before it collapse under the heavy armor, and he gasped. The other guard let go to graph their weapon. Stupid. She ducked underneath the blade and swept his legs. They fell to the ground, too. Aloween didn’t look back as she tore through the halls.

There was no doubt that the Count heard the commotion. There were rumors that he used to belong to a group of Mercenaries and before that the Scourge of the South. She had no desire to test his abilities, especially when hers were still infantile. As such, she kept her legs moving, clumsily avoiding guards and servants alike. 

The first sign that something had gone terribly wrong was when Aloween was sure she had passed a door before. There a giant picture of the Count next to it. Garish and ugly, so it was memorable. She cussed deep in her throat but pushed forward. She didn’t get far, however, when there was the familiar click of nails on the floor and a howl. She snuck a glance behind her and saw two pairs of shining red eyes. The dogs were closing in. Quickly.

Aloween saw the stairs in front and vaulted over the ledge. She landed awkwardly, pulling a hiss between her teeth, but she hobbled forward. She was almost the the door when a large body tackled her. All of the air was knocked from her system, leaving her incapable of fighting back. There was an enthusiastic laugh above her. 

“What a sly fox!” the Count said, and Aloween wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a mock. He sat atop her hips, his weight pressing down on her pelvic region, ensuring that she couldn’t move. He had even hooked his heels underneath her legs. She was trapped. The Count leaned into her, a devilish glint to his face. It seemed the chase had put him in a good mood.

A mood that a whimper from that damned dog broke. His lips dropped in an instant and his eyes turned dark. He regarded her with that icy blue stare. She wanted to look away but the chill froze her bones. She didn’t hold her tongue often, but this was definitely one of those times she should. She swallowed harshly as he continued to sit on her.

“Did you really think you could evade me?” he finally said.

See, she thought, that’s a trick question. “Why does it matter? If I say ‘yes,’ you call me foolish. I say ‘no,’ and you say I’m lying.”

Her clever answer fell short and his brows furrowed deeper. He dragged a sharp metal tip along the top of her left ear. It hurt when he dug into the cartilage, drawing blood.

“Before you hang, should I cut off the top of your ear like you did to Melchior?” he mused, more to himself than to her. He pressed harder and watched as more red spilled and pooled in the dips. It mixed with her dark auburn hair, making it muddier in color. He didn’t realize how close he had gotten to the fox before he glanced at her face, noticing freckles he didn’t see before. He watched her squirm and brushed his nose against her cheek. His full body weight was on her chest now. 

“Now you know what he felt when you shot him. Trapped, cornered,” he whispered into her ear. Aloween would have felt sexual gratification from the breath on her neck, but this interaction was definitely missing the lightheartedness of bedroom manners. She felt her breaths grow shallow in fear and anticipation. “Do you like feeling like the prey?”

She hated cocky people, though she was probably one herself. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I can’t hear you with all the blood in my ear. Try the other side maybe.”

Evidently, that also wasn’t the response he wanted and he pulled back instantly, the almost teasing nature of his behavior vaporized. He called for guards and only got off her when she was handcuffed behind her back. She glared at him before her head was shoved forward.

They took her all the way down to the dungeons, and she walked more stairs on that journey than she had in the last eight months. She grumbled silently and under her breath with each new flight. Finally they halted their descent and opened a cell. It was grimy and dank and damp. Unpleasant to say the least. The guards didn’t undo her handcuffs as they pushed her behind the bars. 

“Oi bastards, be careful. I’m delicate.”

They both stared at her with blank, unamused faces. She glared back defiantly until they turned and started up the many, many flights of stairs. Aloween slouched the second she was out of their sights. Sighing heavily, she laid on her back. The ceiling was even more boring than the walls.

“Stupid dog,” she muttered. 

She sniffed the stale air and grimaced. The smell was perhaps the worst part of it all. She was used to the fresh air of the forests or beasts roasting on the fire or spirits spilled over skin and clothes. Even the Count and his dogs smelled better than this room. Her hunter’s nose was practically pleading with her to somehow stopped it. It was agony.


	2. Chapter 2

A

Aloween sat in the cell for two days, bored out of her mind with a bloodthirst for the Count. She would spare his dogs, because, contrary to beliefs, she rather loved animals. But the Count, she would enjoy it immensely. Hour after hour she planned a thoughtful scheme to break out, kill the Count, and then run away from Vesuvia. Maybe she wouldn’t kill him, just incapacitate him. Then, she’d go stowaway on a boat to Milova or Atapra. Somewhere warm and sunny. Anywhere but South again. She hadn’t gotten out of the cold once, she was not going back in. 

However, her motivation had died by the third day, and she was just bored. But when the cell opened, she was surprised to see the Count himself, standing singularly in the doorway. Even Melchior and Mercedes had abandoned his side. His face was curled into a prominent scowl and she lazily wandered her eyes over him. First, he had dragged her all the way from the forest to the Palace, then he had tackled her, and now, was he going to drag her to the hangman’s noose? She had really fucked up, hadn’t she?

“I didn’t know you cared enough about me to see me off personally, Count,” she said. If she was going to die, might as well go out teasing the most feared man in all of Vesuvia. 

“Get up,” he commanded. She remained on the floor.

He walked closer and stood in front of her. He kicked her foot with his shoe harshly, and she glared up at him. He kicked it again, and then a third. Judging by the increasing strengths behind the kicks, she didn’t want to feel the fourth one and struggled to stand. It’s a lot harder when you don’t have use of your arms. She made it to her feet but slouched against the wall. She didn’t have to respect him, and she hated being toyed with. Kill me or kill me not, just make up your mind, she thought. The Count seemed to be enjoying her displeasure immensely. 

“How long have you hunted?” he said, further amused by the shock the flitted across her face.

“Since I was young.” What a vague answer. Two could play that game.

“Do you know how long I’ve hunted?”

“No. I don’t care either.” Aloween watched his face fall as he…pouted?

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say!” He was definitely pouting. Oh Gods, the Count really was a spoiled brat. She hadn’t believed that someone so fearsome could be so immature like the rumors said. Fool on her.

“Look,  _ dearest _ Count,” Aloween said. “Just kill me already. I’d rather die as painless as possible, and you’re giving me a headache.”

“Become my mercenary,” he blurted. 

“…”

“…” 

“What?”

“Become my bodyguard, my assassin, and I won’t kill you.” He smiled like he was so clever to have thought of the idea. It had just come to him as he watched her. The Count saw the way her eyes twitched every so often, analysing the situation, analysing him. She was always on guard, with every word and action said and done intentionally. She was smart. And good at hunting. He was, though he’d never admit it, impressed with her skills. She was far away and Melchior was running quickly when she had shot the tip of his ear off. It must have taken her at least a decade to refine her skills with a bow. Not to mention, she had taken down two guards and almost evaded him. He could use someone like her.

“Count, are you feeling okay?”

“Do you not want to live?” he snapped at her. Why was she rejecting him…his plan? “It’s either this or the noose. Take it.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking strangely unperturbed for the situation. “Is that a command?”

“Yes,” he decided. Now, who was giving who a headache? His temple throbbed annoyingly from her games. He wondered if he was going to regret this (despite his spiel thirty seconds ago).

“Well, if my count gives me an order, who am I to deny?” Aloween shrugged and offered her hands to him, a smug smile on her face. Her eyes dashed to the door and back to him. Did she think she had manipulated him? He looked at her suspiciously. The chains jangled as she shook her wrists. “These were mighty uncomfortable. I’d like them off now.”

“No.” Her face dropped, and he smiled. “Wear them for a bit, feel comfortable. If I try to take them off you’ll get try and run off again. You shouldn’t let your eyes wander so easily.”

She snorted and gestured to the stairs. “You think I’m going to run up  _ that _ many stairs? I’d rather not.”

“Precaution then.”

“I never counted on you being smart Count,” she said. “Or paranoid.”

He bristled and she had to choke back the laugh that rose in her chest. Gods, he was so easy to tease. Was he really the merciless Count of Vesuvia? The one that beheaded and hung and burned people without another thought? The man who belonged to the Scourge of the South? The mirth faded, though, as she looked at his eyes. The pale blue brought back the previous interactions she had with him. The person he was in the woods and the ballroom, that had been someone she was scared of—and not many  _ things _ , let alone people, frightened her. She’d have to be careful. Who knew how easily his mood could swing? Aloween didn’t realize she had continued to stare at him while she thought until he graced her with a comment, that infamous lilt to his lips.

“I know I’m beautiful but I didn’t know I could leave you ogling. Now, be careful, I can’t have my mercenary falling in love with me.” Though, he thought, it wouldn’t be the worst if she fell into his bed. His lips curled more at the idea.

“Pass,” she answered dryly, already casting her glance aside. “Can we go? This dungeon’s terrible.”

Did she have to ruin everything? Why was she so damn negative? It was a wonderful dungeon, so  _ of course _ it was going to be terrible. His golden claw twitched in irritation. He saw her eyes flick down to it, apprehensive. Interesting. Where was that fearless girl from before? It must be a front then, he mused. He crossed the cell with long strides and threw open the door with more energy than needed. The Count heard her sigh of exasperation but kept the annoyance from creeping. Just she wait, he reminded himself. 

They trekked up the many, many flights of stairs and, by the time they reached the top, even the Count had regretted his decision. There were too many. Once they reached the top (exhausted and out of breath), he watched Aloween start to head towards the main ballroom and grabbed her arm tightly in his claw. She winced and eyed him suspiciously. A wicked idea wandered into his path. Lets see if he can’t bring out that cunning fox again. Let’s see her run.

“We’re not going there just yet.” His smile caused chills down her back and arms. He done playing. 

The Count dragged Aloween out of the castle and to the edge of the woods that lined it. The underbrush was thick and luscious and the canopy blocked out most of the sun on the clear, bright day. He dropped her arm and nodded his chin at the forest.

“Run.”

“What do mean?” But Aloween already felt her body stiffen with adrenaline and tense, prepared to spring at a second’s notice.

“Run, and let me hunt you. Show me how good you are.”

She didn’t trust his eyes, something glittered in those ice blue rings, but she nodded. She faced the forest and breathed deeply. Before the first letter of ‘go’ that passed his lips, she was gone, sprinting and flying through the forest. Maybe the description of a fox was a bit too accurate. He grinned, almost sadistically. This would be a challenge. Wonderful, he thought. He hadn’t had one in months, almost years. He gave her a full minute, before he stepped calmly into the woods. The game began.

Now he really was the hunter and she the prey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao what the hell is this? If you made it this far, thanks, hopefully that means it isn't too bad.


	3. Chapter 3

Branches and leaves whipped her face as she rushed past them. Careful to never break a single branch, she ran light footed and avoided any tense thickets. The Count had really picked a difficult forest, hadn’t he? It had rained last night so the mud was plentiful and her footprints clear. She needed to get off the ground soon. Aloween slowed her pace and listened. There was a small brooke off to her right. She tiptoed to it and let the water soak away the mud and her scent (this was more out of habit formed out of running from sniffer dogs). There was a low hanging branch overhead, and she reached out to grab it. She hoisted herself up and balanced precariously on the bending wood. Height and distance would be her best advantages. But most of the trees’ branches were too sparse and thin for her to use. 

She quickly counted her routes: a) stay in the low hanging branches and hope he doesn’t look up; b) try to find somewhere to climb higher; c) get down and hide in the thicket; d) continue to run and evade him. None were particularly good options but they were all she had. A twig snapped in the distance, and Aloween crouched low on the branch. She carefully shimmied along the wood and swung onto a higher branch, careful to hold in every sound. She was probably only three or four meters off the ground, not nearly high enough but the next branch was too far away. She spied one tree with an outstretched arm and jumped onto it. She hadn’t seen the sharp spike until it sliced her calf. Immediately, she cupped the cut and began to rip off part of her shirt to stop the bleeding. Blood was one of the easiest ways to track.

The knot was tight and her calf was burning, but she still moved forward. She dropped from the branches once she found ground that wasn’t so wet. The woods had been silent, more more quiet than she would have liked. Even the birds and bugs and squirrels weren’t moving as much. She didn’t like it. Her stomach twisted as she looked at the slowly darkening woods. As a hunter, she relied on her innate misgivings, and this didn’t  _ feel _ right. 

It wasn’t either. Her hand went to her empty hip just as something burst from the bushes. It tackled her to the ground and pinned her shoulders. At first, she thought it was the Count but the words died on her tongue.

It wasn’t the Count. It was a bear. 

She stayed absolutely still as it lowered its snout and huffed in her face. She tried not to gag at the smell of decay but she coughed. It roared loudly and lifted up onto its hind legs, ready to pounce on her. She rolled out of the way, the claws stabbing into the dirt centimeters from her face. Eyes wide, she sprung onto her feet and ran back through the forest, trying to remember the path that would lead out. 

The first rule she learned was to know where you where and how to get out at all times. Whether it was a familiar tree or rock or stream, keep its position in the back of your mind at all times. As she dashed past tall ferns and thorny vines, Aloween kept her eyes upwards at the first level of branches. If she could remember how she traveled across them, she could find the bending willow over the river. She knew how to get out of the forest from there. However, the problem with keeping your eyes upwards is that you’re not watching what’s in front of you. Her foot dragged along a ridge she hadn’t noted, and she slammed onto the mud. The bear was too close and it swiped at her legs, drawing three lines upwards. She yelled and kicked back with her non-injured leg, hitting it in the face.

It growled loudly and rose up on its hind legs again. Aloween tried to drag herself out of its range, but her leg was dripping profusely. It was about to crush her when a strong and sharp grip on her bicep pulled her away. She glanced at the hand and recognize its golden hue. Who else of course? The Count pulled Aloween to her feet and looped an arm around her back, practically carrying her away. His face was marred by a deep frown. This probably didn’t reflect well on her.

The Count promptly dropped her after they were outside the safety. She yelped in surprise and glared at the pain. He scowled back. She was tempted to swipe at him with her leg but held still and instead, ripped off more of her shirt to tie a second tourniquet. Today had not been favorable, she decided. She noticed the Count’s icy stare drop to her now exposed abdomen to her two wounds.

“It seems my initial feelings were wrong,” he said. “You’re a terrible hunter.”

“And you’re a prick,” she whispered quietly. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she smiled innocently.

“These are nothing more than scratches. And who can blame me for being clumsy in foreign terrain?”

“A  _ good _ hunter, like  _ me _ , can always adapt to new places,” he boasted.

Aloween stood up and brushed off her pants, not bothering to give him an answer. She stood with her arms crossed, waiting. Her lack of reaction bothered him. He mimicked her position.

“What?” he finally asked when the silence was too much for him.

“I should be asking you that, Count. You were the one that dragged me here.”

“I…,” he trailed off and pursed his lips. “You passed the test. I’ll let you become my mercenary.”

She looked thoroughly unconvinced but shrugged. “I mean, you asked me to become your mercenary in the first place and you just said I was a terrible hunter, but I can’t help it if your standards are lax.”

“My standards are not lax!”

She put both her hands up and backed away, teasing him subtly. He was too sour to noticed and stormed up the path to the Palace. He paused when he noticed her trailing far behind, gaze immediately lingering on her arm and leg. He spun around and continued to take long strides until he reached the main ballroom. He called a trembling servant to his side.

“Have Jules come up here. My new mercenary hurt herself.”

“What?” the boy squeaked.

The Count’s icy stare sent him scurrying to the lower levels. By the time Aloween made it into the main ballroom, the good doctor had been heatedly discussing the Count’s actions. The man was almost happy to see the injured woman since it meant that he didn’t have to be nagged anymore. He quickly stood up and pointed at her.

“See! Her leg and arm’s a mess. Fix them,” he commanded.

The taller man threw him a dirty glare but crossed over to her, and the Count sat down. Aloween watched the redhead approach warily. He smiled at her.

“Hello, my name is Julian Devorak, the royal doctor. Please just call me Julian.”

“I’d rather not,” she said to his dismay and the Count’s amusement. She never referred to anyone by their real name, not unless there was intimacy involved. It was just the way she was raised. “So, Doc, why are you here?”

“He,” the Doctor nodded his head, annoyed, at the man behind him, “made me come.”

“Well, I can tell you that none of my injuries are particularly bad. I’m fine.”

“Take off the bandages already,” the Count called from his throne.

“Take them off yourself,” Aloween said behind her teeth. The Doctor looked about to laugh, but the Count frowned, not having heard. She rolled her eyes but followed instructions anyways. The Count stepped down from his throne in wonder. The wounds were mostly healed, the skin slowly knitting itself together.

Her lips twitched at their disbelief and the Count’s obvious gawking. “The spell takes a while to work but it does work.”

“You’re a magician?!” He jumped at her and grabbed her shoulder.

She leaned back as far as possible. “Not really. I just learned some tricks of the trade from a travelling healer. Everyone has the ability for magic, just some have propensity for it.”

“Amazing,” he said in awe. “What else can you do?”

Aloween only shrugged. “Not much. Only small things like infusing soups with sleeping and re-strengthening spells. And healing spells. That’s it.”

“Boring,” he said. “But I can train you!” His eyes brightened at the thought. “This was the best decision I’ve ever made,” he declared triumphantly. “Jules, send for the designers and seamstresses. Have them outfit my new mercenary.”

The Doctor blanched at his title for her. “I’m a doctor Lucio, not a servant.”

The Count only fluttered his hand flippantly and grabbed her wrist, dashing out of the ballroom like a madman. She followed, because, honestly, she couldn’t do anything else. She was beginning to question the sanity of the Count of Vesuvia. Was he crazy or just a child? Maybe both, she reckoned. He stopped with her in front of a door.

“Count?” she asked. “What exactly are we doing?”

He grinned at her. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to sleep.”

“And I’m here because…?” She didn’t like how his smile grew.

“You’re my mercenary. You’re supposed to guard me…even in my sleep.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucio is literally a man-boy on crack...how do I even write that? I don't know what this chapter is but hopefully it's not too bad.


	4. Chapter 4

“Even for you, this is ridiculous.”

My, my, my, Aloween was persistent, wasn’t she? Annoying and steadfast. Why couldn’t she just be scared of him like everyone else and not contradict his ideas? He had barely gotten into his room and slammed his door before her barrage began. He groaned quietly at her exasperation.

“Do you want me to die in my sleep? Who knows? Someone may try to poison me, strangle me, burn me.”

She wasn’t convinced. “You probably have guards patrolling outside every night. I don’t see why you need me. And you haven’t died yet.”

His face almost turned grim and he took off his shirt, carefully watching her reaction to his partial nudity. None, but her eyes did wander the battlefield. He had scars up and down his chest, faint with age but prominent despite. 

“I don’t have guards. And it’s not been for lack of trying.” 

She licked her lips, face falling sullen. She looked back up at his face. He was a count, of course he would have scars, but those weren’t normal ones. She wanted to ask was where he had gotten them, but bit her tongue. Despite the strange and disjointed day, she only a hunter who barely escaped the gallows. She was already on thin ice from earlier actions. Who knew how he’d react. He laughed hallowly at her silence and crossed to her, lightly placing his claw on her cheek. He tapped lightly.

“That’s why I need my little mercenary. I can’t always defend myself and my glorious body. Just look at how those heathens have ruined my beautiful skin.” He spread his arms wide like a peacock showing off its feathers

“Scars aren’t ugly.”

“Hmm?” Still defiant though she had lost an edge to her voice.

“Scars don’t make skin ugly. They only make it into something new.” That’s what her father had said, decked head to toe from battle scars and hunting scars and scars that couldn’t ever be seen. She herself had a collection. “They remind us of our wins and our losses and that not everything disappears. If you only look at the how things are ruined, you’ll be miserable your whole life.”

“And who told you that?”

“My father.” Her eyes flashed dangerously, and he knew he had broached a sensitive topic. He could relate, he wasn’t close to his family (considering the fact he tore out his father’s heart and tried to do the same to his mother).

“And how’s that working out?” The Count had retreated to the edge of his bed and plopped down, leaning backwards onto his hand. It was a suggestive position.

“Well, considering I’m being forced, my apologies, recruited to work for you as a mercenary, I think I have to make that mindset work.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked indignantly.

“Nothing,” she said airily, rolling her eyes. Did she ever stop being foxy and elusive? The Count decided to switch the topic, ignoring the dwindling light.

“Tell me more about you.”

“Like what?”

“Where are you from?”

“Vesuvia.”

He clucked his tongue. “Don’t lie to me. You’re not from Vesuvia—not with that skin. You lived somewhere cold and barren for most of your life. That’s how hunters like you and me are made.”

He saw her fingers tightening on her arms, creating slight indents above her elbow. “I didn’t live in a town or a city. I just lived in the woods to the south and west.”

“Nomadic group?” he guessed but she shook her head.

“It was just me and my father.”

“What happened to your mother?”

“She died.” Short, blunt, succinct. 

“What else?”

“What else do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“So helpful,” she said. “When my father got sick, seven years ago, I left the forest and travelled north. I picked up the name ‘Aloween’ and lived town to town. I hunted for a living until I accidentally shot your dog and became employed by the Count of Vesuvia. There’s not much to my life.”

“I doubt that.”

“Doubt it as much as you want, but it’s true.”

“Aloween,” he tasted her name, finding it unique and strange in flavor. He beckoned her closer with two fingers. She bristled slightly at the command but complied. She stopped short by a meter. He shook his head and gestured again. She took one step closer, and he struck like a viper, grabbing her wrist and yanking her between his legs. Aloween caught herself on the bed before she could slam into his bare chest. Her free forearm came up instinctively and pressed lightly against his throat. 

“Stop.”

“Are  _ you _ trying to command me?”

She tried to move back but his grip was steadfast. Her discomfort grew by the minute. So the fox wasn’t so cold after all. The light dusting of blush suited her. Having fulfilled his fun, he laughed and let go. She jumped back instantly, like a spooked animal. He stood up and she took several paces back. A chuckle burst forward and he moved, not towards her, but towards his lavish closet, throwing a pair of pants. Aloween watched, distrust so apparent in her eyes. He grinned crookedly and began to unlace his pants. She glared at him before shifting her gaze to the pictures on the wall. He took his time changing pants, revelling in her uneasiness. Serves her right for teasing and making him look foolish all afternoon, he thought. He climbed under the covers and she stood at the edge.

“Stay there all night,” he commanded, waggling a finger in her direction. “Can’t risk someone killing me. Also, I suggest not talking back so much. Who knows what might happen if you do?”

She hummed in understanding and avoided the icy eyes until they closed. Only after he was asleep, did she exhale in bewilderment. What was he on today? She couldn’t count the different moods on both her hands. He was, perhaps, the most confusing man she had ever met. She couldn’t fathom why he did the things he did, maybe she never would.

But, she noticed, he lost his edge while he slept.

As the hours slowly dragged by, she found herself at his bookshelf, sparsely decorated. She supposed she shouldn’t surprise that his hobby wasn’t intellectual pursuit. He seemed more the type to hunt, fight, and fuck. Snapping her fingers, she conjured a small flame and used it to illuminate the titles of the volumes he did possess. However, there was a folded slip on his desk. She carefully picked it up and uncreased the edges. It was a map. She trailed her finger gingerly over the places she had visited, finally resting on the forest. She never wanted to go back but it held a fondness in her heart. A small spot further south was darkly marked. The Count had said that people like  _ them _ came from cold and barren places. Is that where he lived?

How did he become Count of Vesuvia in the first place? She pondered the thought. To her limited knowledge, the city wasn’t ruled by bloodlines but still, he must have fought to seize power. Who was the previous Count? Did he lose his before or after? She cast a glance at his fair sleeping form. Maybe she would find out, maybe she wouldn’t. She decided to leave the questions just that—questions.

She lit a small candle with her flame and went back to the bookshelf, deciding that a boring book was better than boredom itself. She opened one novel and spent hours pouring over his boring books and maps and pictures. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucio's turning out to be much more complicated of a character to write than I anticipated.

The Count wasn’t expecting her to still be awake when his eyes fluttered open. He groaned at the light and sat up, the covers pooling at his waist. He rubbed his eyes and blink to clear them, gaping at what he saw. He wasn’t a clean person, but his room was sparkling and organized. Aloween sat at his desk, the chair carefully propped onto its back legs, a book in hand. She met his gaze over the pictures and let herself fall back into proper position.

“No one attempted to kill you last night.”

He grinned. “It’s only a matter of time I promise you.”

“You seem morbidly happy about that.”

“What’s life without a little fun and blood and danger,” he said, shrugging.

“You and I have different definitions of life’s purpose.”

He rolled his eyes and out of bed, skillfully landing on his feet. She drew her eyes back to her book as he changed. She only looked up when he cleared his throat. His trousers were on, albeit loosely, and his shirt plunged to his navel. He did love showing off his features, didn’t he? He stared at her expectantly.

“What?”

“That’s no way to talk to your Count, is it?”

“What do you want, Count?” she refrased. 

“Help me dress.”

“No.”

“No?” he drolled. “Do as your Count commands or you’ll be in the hangman’s embrace sooner rather than later.”

She smiled and he decided that, despite their shapely form, he didn’t like them. She held up her hand and, as if on cue, there were three rapt knocks on the door. Before he could speak, she revealed the servants. They bowed and began to get his clothes ready. He sniffed.

“I noticed you starting to wake and rang for some servants to help you in your morning routine. Now, dear Count, I must be off to that appointment you forced the Doctor to make with the fashion department.”

Aloween walked out of the room without a second glance. She carefully snagged an apple and chalice of wine from a passing servant, no doubt meant for the Count. She backtracked to the main hall, where she had promised to meet the Doctor. She wasn’t one for surprises, but his unexpected presence at the infante hours of the morning was a relief. There was a slight spring to her already weightless step as she approached the tall man. 

“Morning, Doctor.”

“Good morning, Aloween,” he greeted, smiling easily at the mercenary. Might as well make a good impression on the Count’s bodyguard, she would be ready to kill anyone in a few days of spending so much time in close quarters with him.

“How long do these things normally take?” she asked as they walked.

He shrugged. “Depends on what designs Lucio has picked out or if he told them anything at all.”

“Wonderful.” He almost laughed at the dripping enthusiasm in her voice. 

The Doctor glanced at her, eyeing the slight dark circles around her eyes. It wouldn’t shock him if the Count forced her to stay up all night. Or perhaps, she just didn’t sleep. He decided not to broach the topic and sour her already worsening mood, judging by the look on her face as they drew closer. When they stopped at the door, she looked anything but excited. He gave her a comforting glance and strode off to his office. He paused when she called out to him.

“If you see the Count, he’s in a bad mood today,” she warned and stepped into the mess of fabrics.

He groaned and winced preemptively. What had he done? Or what had she done? They were all doomed if the Count and his mercenary clashed, which, if yesterday was any indication, they would.

Unfortunately for the Doctor, his prediction was uncannily correct. The Count was shouting and had fired five servants when he saw him in the passing. He demanded the Doctor to stay by his side, ranting on about Aloween’s impertinence. The Doctor was a patient person but he was not a babysitter. When in the middle of important medical research and discovery, he didn’t have time to waste listening to an older man’s conceited issues.

“Grow up.” Aloween saved him and simultaneously made it worse.

The Count threw out a hand angrily. “Look! See how she addresses her beloved count.”

Her jaw clenched. “You hired me,” she reminded again. She kept her eyes locked with his but subtly nodded for the Doctor to leave. He thanked the Arcana and hastily made an exit. 

“Melchior, Mercedes, attack her!” the Count commanded.

The dogs ran to her but she only bent onto one knee and outstretched on hand. Melchior stopped and licked her palms aggressively before turning his attention to her cheek. Always the more cautious and suspicious, Mercedes stopped feet away. Neither attacked. 

The Count’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t angry (alright, maybe a little) but more confused. Mercedes and Melchior didn’t like anyone but him. They were mercilessly picky and fiercely independent and loyal. Strange. He watched her eyes darken as she ran a careful hand up Melchior’s ear. It was wrapped in gauze to prevent bleeding and infection. The dog whimpered as her fingers pinched it. His hands twitch instinctively but he bid them wait. Aloween closed her eyes and concentrated and released the pressure a minute later. Ever so gently, she unwrapped the white cloth. 

His mouth fell even further. Melchior’s ear hadn’t grown back but the tip wasn’t the crusted, half-healing mess it had been before. The skin had completely covered the raw edge. She pressed a featherlight kiss to the dog’s white temple and he licked her happily. The Count whistled and both dogs ran to him instantly. He observed her work for himself, amazed. He looked at her for explanation.

“I never meant to harm him. Figured I should fix it anyway I could.”

“This’ll knock Jules off his feet. He doesn’t believe in magic in medicine. Idiot,” he remarked. He smiled at her. “And here I thought you just knew some parlor tricks.”

“You’ve seen it before.”

“But that doesn’t stop it from being amazing,” he countered.

Aloween turned her face away, the tiniest of red tinting her cheeks. Most people weren’t in awe of her magic. Half were fearful, half were arrogant, none possessing the almost adorating tone he used. 

“Thank you.” The Count smiled, amused at her bashfulness. He might take back his earlier comment on her lips. They were quite pretty with a bit of rouge. He liked her sheepish, he decided.

“You know—” he never finished his tease before a servant dashed up the steps and curtsied.

“Count Lucio, the courtiers are waiting for you in drawing room.”

He groaned loudly and rose. The Count held out a hand for his little mercenary. “You’re coming, too, Aloween. You’ll have to be introduced to them sooner or later.”

She groaned more discreetly than him but paced to his side. The Count eyed her slinking figure, wondering if it the slight sashaying was intentional. Her new look was rather appropriate for his mercenary, he deemed. He took her elbow, ignoring her tensing muscles and leaned in closely. 

“You look rather ravishing in the new clothes, Fox,” he practically purred into her ear. “I approve of my designs.” He teasingly bit the top and pulled away, dragging her through the Palace once more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is this and I don't know where the fuck it came from or if it works but I don't have to time to care right now lmao. Enjoy (?)

When the Count excitedly burst open the door, the courtiers stopped their conversations and paid respects to him, bowing or raising a glass in the case of the tallest man. He practically shoved Aloween forward, and her eyes widened at the lot of people. She would have physically recoiled had she not seen slightly scarier things. They were an…eccentric bunch. The one man glared at her with a stuck up nose but the other four looked on with curiosity. She didn’t know why they offput her, but she felt ill towards them. She kept her gaze and mind sharp and guarded.

“This Aloween, my new mercenary.” The Count was practically gleaming as he showed her off. 

Her introduction only exacerbated the existing emotions. She locked eyes with the man and lifted her chin in challenge. It was broken by a portly figure rushing up to her. She took a step back instinctively. The woman smiled sickly up at her, one eye milking and drooping. 

She squealed and clasped her hands together. “You look so strong and brave! A true killer, I suppose.”

The other stout coutier, dressed in a much brighter red than Aloween, continued. “Ha, I’d like to see you fight before I judge that. What weapon do you prefer?”

“Sword or hunting bow,” she mumbled.

“Enough!” the Count ordered before the other three could comment. “Introduce yourselves.”

The short woman grinned up, which only made her seem more grotesque. “Volta, the Procurator. You smell good,” she whispered more to herself than anyone else. Aloween took another step away.

The one in red practically shouted their name. “Vulgora, the Pontifex.”

“Vlastomil. Praetor,” a thin, reedy man spoke up. He looked like he was on the brink of death, his skin so pale it was almost purple. His s’s were hissed.

“Valerius. The Count’s Consul.” He sipped on his glass, held in one hand, and hardly gave her a glance before strolling over to the Count and pulling him to the side, engaging him in a conversation. The two were quietly animated. Strangely, despite his obvious distaste for her, she felt the most comfortable with him. He seemed the most…normal. Except, wine this early in the day?

The last one was perhaps the most terrifying of the group. Their skin had a green tinge and their eyes were deep crimson. Aloween noticed that they watched her the most intently, never blinking throughout the entire introductions. They walked closer, steps paced evenly until they were a meter away. They were taller than her by a couple of inches, the strange wrapped horns only adding more height. They rested their hands together as they studied her.

Their voice sent chills down Aloween’s spine. “I’m Valdemar, the Quaestor and head physician. It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I do hope to get to know you and your victims better in the future.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “Victims?”

“Of course. I’ve been needing some fresh bodies to experiment on.” They leaned closer. “There’s so much I need to do.”

Aloween’s stomach coiled tightly and she felt an increasing itch to run away. Luckily, the Count and the Consul finished their conversation and rejoined the group, and he pulled her to his side. He was grinning brightly. 

“Isn’t she just spectacular?” he gloated. 

“Indeed,” the Quaestor appraised.

“Now, I want to talk about the Lazaret’s progress.”

“We need more money for its completion. With the funds, the construction should be complete by spring,” the Consul informed. Aloween noticed how the physician’s eyes lit up with the news.

“How about we schedule another gladiator games?” the Pontifex suggested. “That’ll lift people’s spirits and draw in money. It always makes me feel better.”

“Or we could raise food prices.” The Procurator smiled and rubbed her hands together. “We can keep the food here instead. 

There were a few more suggestions thrown around, and Aloween turned to the Count. “What is the Lazaret?”

The Consul overheard and scoffed. “Surely you know of the Red Plague. We can’t have plague victims roaming the streets of Vesuvia so we have to put them somewhere. How dense.”

It struck of cord inside her. Aloween was not an empathetic person nor did she particularly care for the well-being of strangers, but to condemn a whole group of people was ridiculous. Her eyes flashed dangerously but she put on a small smile. “How silly of me to not know something about a city of which I’ve only been in for three days. However, it does concern me already at the disarray and frank disregard of the citizens you all seem to possess. Instead of building an expensive island, why don’t you just go into the plague victims’ houses and just murder them in their beds if you plan on giving them no hope? I may be a mercenary but I’ve only killed to survive.”

“Then perhaps you don’t belong here.”

They had drawn the attention of all five people with their heated but calm words. Aloween glanced at the Count and excused herself from the room. She slammed the door behind her. She gripped her hair. What the hell had she gotten herself into? She needed to leave. She flew through the hallways before accidentally bumping into the Doctor. He stabilized her, face dropping at her wild expression.

“What’s the matter?”

He was a palace doctor, she thought. Did he know about the Lazaret and their plans? Did he work with the Quaestor? “I need to leave. I can’t stay here.”

“Leave? You can’t. Lucio will—”

“The Count be damned. Doc, you don’t understand. The courtiers are planning something horrible. I can’t be here.” 

His face darkened at the mention of the courtiers. “What did they say?” his voice dropped with his mood.

“They’re going to finish the Lazaret by spring. How can you stay here? How can you work with them?”

The Doctor sighed and dropped his hands, eyes wet. “I don’t have a choice,” he conceded. He moved out of her path. “Lucio will come after you, so I recommend getting a head start.”

She nodded and fled the Palace. She dodged the guards through the winding streets and canals of Vesuvia until she reached the forest, diving in without hesitation. In the far distance, she heard the yelp and howls of dogs. She ran faster into the deeper parts of the woods, wading in the streams to hopefully throw off her scent. Who knew what would happen if the Count caught her.

Aloween stayed in the woods for hours, filled with adrenaline for the entire duration. Every snap, every flutter of wings she was prepared to fight or flee. She had climbed a tree and was huddled in a nest of branches. She was so stupid. Why had she ever become the Count’s mercenary if she knew his reputation? She couldn’t protect someone like him. And the courtiers. She wanted to upheave at the thought of ever seeing them again. 

“Aloween!” Right underneath her was the fuming Count, his pale blonde hair contrasting the darkness. Melchior and Mercedes were growling by his side, heads giving away her position. “Get down here now!”

“No!”

“I’ll kill you for this! How dare you run away during the middle of the meeting. What if someone had tried to kill me?”  _ That’s _ what he was mad about?

“You’re insane.” Knowing it was stupid but doing it anyways, she jumped down from the tree, landing right in front of his nose. “You’re about to kill off an entire group of people! I may be a hunter, but I’m not a murderer and I won’t protect one.”

“I’m doing this so the rest of Vesuvia can be safe,” he protested. She shook her head, not buying his bullshit.

“No, you’re doing it to protect yourself.”

“Well am I not the ‘rest of Vesuvia?’ Anyways, come back, we need to train you.”

“You’re not getting it.” She took a step closer, and Mercedes snapped her jaws warningly. “I can’t watch innocent people die. I’ve done it before and I won’t do it again. Even if that means killing you and the courtiers, I will try my best.”

“I could have you imprisoned for a threat. And you’re supposed to stop assassinations, not perform them. Besides, you don’t even know them. You’re a roaming hunter.”

She shook her head in disgust and was about to turn away, uncaring if he would come after. The Count felt a mixture of feelings in his stomach and grabbed her arm. “What if I promise you that you’ll never have to talk to them again?”

“Will you still kill innocent people?”

“Well…that’s not my intention. Besides the gladiator games—which people volunteer for—,” he quickly clarified, “and the Lazaret, which will only be used for people super sick and already dying from the Red Plague, I promise I won’t kill innocent citizens.”

“How do you not care?”

“Why should I?”

She looked away, at the forest. She wanted to run, to be free, to not worry about Vesuvia. But she knew about the plans and that guilt would stay with her forever. Maybe, just maybe, Aloween could help.

“Count, if I stay your mercenary, if I don’t leave right now, promise me you’ll listen to my advice in the future?” 

He grinned and flippantly agreed. He wasn’t ever planning on killing her in the first place. As irritating as Aloween was, she had made the past few days so much more enjoyable, even as snarky and unaffectionate as she was. A thought made his smile bigger.

“I mean, you don’t really have a choice, but let’s make a truce. You’ll not just be my mercenary, I’ll put you on my council and give you authority. They’ll have to listen to you. But you have to stay by my side until I die.” It was a steep price, but the benefits outweighed the negatives and she didn’t have a choice.

“Dea—”

“ _ Also _ , you have to call me Lucio.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter today, but I needed to write and post something so I didn't forget this story. Hope you're all doing well : )

He bolted upright, chest heaving heavily. The silky sheets pooled around his waist and bared his stomach muscles. His eyes darted across the dark room, until they spotted the woman approaching him.

“Lucio?” Alloween’s voice was groggy, thick, and raspy. Had she been asleep? She stopped by his side and he felt the warmth from the small flame nestled in her palm. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t answer but reached his golden arm towards the flame. She outstretched her hand and let the fire dance around the metal fingers. However, he moved past them and grabbed her hand, throwing off her balancing and tossing her into the bed. Aloween landed softly with a tiny exhale. He placed himself above her.

“Do you hate me?” he asked

“No.”

“Do you fear me?”

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

“…No.”

His face fell in the dim light but he leaned in closer, his breath fanning on her nose and cheeks and lips. “Do you trust me?”

“…Yes.” She looked him deep in the eyes. “But I’d trust you a lot more if you didn’t assault me every time you had a nightmare.”

He laughed brazenly and sat up, pulling her with him. It had been seven months and fourteen days since they made the deal, but the boundaries and clauses had evolved. Some became hazy or even blatantly forgotten while more were added and solidified. But above all, there was a close bond between the Count and his mercenary that no one else understood.

“My birthday’s in a few weeks,” Lucio reminded Aloween as she helped him dress.

“And?” She didn’t glance up and kept her eyes focused on the loose lacings, fixing them to how he usually liked it. Lucio poured and grabbed her hands.

“It’s my  _ birthday _ ,” he whined. “We need to start planning the Masquerade.”

She frowned. “The Masquerade? How much planning does it need?”

He gaped at her in disbelief, like her lack of knowledge was some great tragedy. Aloween rolled her eyes and finished his shirt, moving to the next task. He followed her, spouting exclamations about needing to educate her.

“I haven’t even been in Vesuvia for a year, Lucio.”

He paused in the middle of his sentence to muse. “Fine,” he conceded. “But that only means that this Masquerade has to be more splendid than all of the previous ones. It has to be so grand you’ll never forget it.”

She rolled her eyes again. “And you wonder why Vesuvia is in debt.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pouted. 

She didn’t answer his question and opened the thick curtains that kept his room pitch dark. Lucio squinted against the early rising sun, turning away from the struggling rays. He noticed a new set of books on his desk. One was flipped open to the middle. Aloween watched him turn to the cover and grimace at the title.

“What was this one about?”

“Hmm?” he looked up. Her face was serious but tender.

“The nightmare.”

“Oh that,” he smiled outwardly. “It’s nothing you need to worry yourself about Fox.”

She didn’t take his response for face value. If there was one thing she learned, it’s that he hid the most important fears and joys in his life. He didn’t want to acknowledge them to others because he’d have to acknowledge them to himself. Like when there really was an assassin three months ago. 

The man had combed through the Palace, undetected by the servants and guards with the use of major. He planned to kill the Count with a dagger drenched in enough poison to kill the entire staff. The assassin had slipped into Lucio’s room and was by his bed before Aloween caught the whiff of magic and diverted his attention. They fought quietly before the picture of Lucio was knocked to the ground. The shattering was like thunder in the small room. In that small distraction, the assassin nicked the mercenary with the blade and Lucio woke up. The man escaped before either could do real damage to him.

Aloween almost didn’t survive. She spent a week in pain with the Doctor and Head Physician trying dozens of treatments—from sweating it out, to potions from an apothecary, to bloodletting and needles and more until they created a cure that helped. She stayed in their care for five more days.

When she finally returned to her mercenary position, Lucio was cold and uncaring. He acted more boisterous, more brazen, more selfish in public and even tried to maintain the facade in private. Aloween decided to return the favor and acted indifferent to his whining and boasting until it turned almost into pleading. The tension lasted a solid seven days before he broke and apologized. 

She made him make one more promise—that he wouldn’t act differently towards her for stupid reasons like that, he had to act like the man and count he was. In return, she would be more open with him, answer more of his questions about her past and wants and wishes. The two had truly become as thick as thieves, soon relying on each others advice more than the consuls.

Which, for obvious reasons, made the relationship between Valerius and Aloween worse. She didn’t mind Lucio’s taste being what they were but she  _ did _ mind the people he chose to satiate them. Valerius was the most arrogant, pig-headed bastard she had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and the servants were too naive and clingy afterwards. It only made her life more complicated. Not to mention, she had gotten used to being up all night to guard him, so when she was kicked out of his room because she declined his offer to watch, she found herself extremely unnerved and bored. 

“Aloween,” Lucio’s face was only inches from her face. She could feel his breath and his smirk. “We need to get you ready.”

“Me?” She took a step back and cocked her head. She didn’t like the devilish gleam in his eye. “What for?”

“Do you not know?” Lucio loved the rare instances when he could gain the upper hand by knowing something she didn’t. “The Prakran royalty is visiting Vesuvia this week.”

“What?! How was I not informed? There’s so much I need to do…”

“Relax, Aloween. My council has it under control.”

She whirled around. “ _ That _ ’s what I’m worried about. They don’t know how to address royalty or how to arrange things without costing exorbitant amounts of money, which, let me remind you, the Palace is currently short on. Especially, if you plan on having this elaborate Masquerade, we need to budget well. And—”

Lucio’s mouth twisted. He knew that she hated the council and that most of them were too oblivious to hate her except for Valdemar and Valerius. The latter brought it up while they were in bed one evening, prompting him to get rid of her, preferably through death. It had caused a large fight between them and he hadn’t frequented his chambers since. He didn’t realize he had been staring blankly until she called out to him.

“I’m fine,” he said, his notorious smile taking back his face. “It’s amusing to see my mercenary act like a councilman when she’s never truly been in a real society.”

“I could say the same for you,” she shot back in banter. “A hunter from the South turned count, rags to riches.”

“Hey!” 

She laughed at his indignation. “This means I need a new outfit. I’ll have to head into town.”

“A single outfit? That’s not nearly enough. Think, a whole closet!” He spread his arms apart for emphasis. “And I’ll just have them made here for you.”

“I’m  _ not _ being put into a dress.”

He stalked closer and smiled down at her. He gripped her chin, ignoring her burning gaze. “You don’t have a choice Fox.”

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's coming to town?

Fate, quite frankly, hated her, Aloween decided. The Count had gotten his way, and she was stuffed into a draping crimson gown that was far too open in places it probably shouldn’t be. As a hunter, it was always necessary to have fabric on most parts of the body to hide the smell and to add some form of layering from the fangs and claws of wild animals and from the cold. She felt incredibly overexposed. Julian’s reaction didn’t help; he turned nearly as red as her dress. It was only fitting that the sun was burning brighter and warmer than it normally did during that season, and she was convinced she would die from heat stroke. 

Lucio, on the other hand, looked perfectly content in his fancy crimson shirt, cut down the middle to his navel. His chest, while nice to look at, might not make an amazing impression to the royalty, but he blew off all of her concerns and wore it anyways. Some days, she wanted to strangle the Count. So pompous but at least he forwent the luxuries she convinced them they couldn’t afford right now.

In the distance, she saw the tip of a ship not flying the Vesuvian colors. She ran through all of the knowledge she had crammed about Prakran in the three days before their arrival. They were a matriarchal society ruled by Queen Nasrin Satrinava and her Royal Consort Namar. They had seven daughters but only the oldest and youngest were visiting with them. The Crown Princess Nafizah was said to be a wonder of the world. The youngest, Nadia, Aloween remembered her name (at least, she hoped it was Nadia; they all started with “N” so it started to get confusing), was said to be a beauty.

She noted that it was a bit pathetic that  _ she _ knew  _ much _ more than Lucio or any of his council with the exception of Valerius. He stood on the other side of the flamboyant Count, a permanent scowl on his face. It didn’t fade as the ship drew closer and docked in the ports. She, instead, straightened her back, determined to make a good impression on the foreign court. She offered them a courteous nod as they stepped onto the wooden planks. Only the doctor followed. Luckily, the older three seemed unbothered by the lack of manners but the youngest wrinkled her nose slightly and lifted her chin up. Aloween watched her carefully as she approached them with Lucio and Valerius. 

“Your majesties,” the Consul addressed. Everytime he spoke, Aloween resisted the urge to hurt him. To take her mind off the topic, she surveyed the four nobles, surprised to find Nafizah’s gold eyes already on her. They were entrancing, honey to reel in the flies. Blinking, she broke the stare and quickly glanced at anyone else.

“Count, it is gracious of you to entertain us while we negotiate the trade details,” the Queen said, authoritarian without being bossy or arrogant. How Aloween wished Lucio could learn that grace, but, then again, he wouldn’t be Lucio then.

“It is gracious of me, isn’t it?” Lucio said, a stupid lilt ot his lips. Aloween inhaled deeply and took a step forward, trying to remain unfazed when all eyes were on her form.

“Why don’t we show you to the Palace?” she offered. “I’m sure you’re weary from your travels. There is much time to explore the city afterwards.”

“That would be lovely,” the Queen agreed. “I didn’t know Vesuvia had a Countess.”

The mercenary and the Count both spluttered. Valerius’ hands curled into tight fists and his eyes darkened. Flustered, Aloween tried to deny. “I am not the Countess, Lucio is still a bachelor. I am merely his…” 

“She’s my mercenary.”

“An assassin?” the youngest Satrinava daughter spoke up in disdain. 

“Not exactly, Your Majesty. I was a nomadic hunter before the Count decided to…ehm…hire me. What he means to say is that I am his personal guard.”

Nadia didn’t look convinced but they all dropped the subject as they moved towards the Palace. Valerius and Aloween pointed out key sites and attractions. They would explore them in depth later. When they eventually were at the main gates, the foreign nobility were impressed even if Nadia tried not to show it. After Aloween had seen them all settled into their rooms, she stormed into Lucio’s quarters since it was much closer than her own (which he eventually granted after two months). She clawed at the gown, feeling like she would suffocate if she wore it for one more second. Once it was off and discarded on the floor, she started pulling on one of the outfits she kept in his room. Aloween didn’t necessarily followed his reasoning when he argued for it but now she was grateful. She was halfway through putting on her shirt when the door burst open. Lucio paused immediately, eyes on her scarred torso before they drifted upwards, staying in one spot for a bit too long before they met her own gaze. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his gawking and hastily pulled the hem down. 

“Did I say you could change out of that dress?” he quickly gained his bearings and crossed his arms, sporting a grin.

“You try standing outside for two hours with  _ that _ thing on you. Gods, I thought I was going to die.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything other than you should wear less clothes all the time.”

“I don’t care if you are the Count, I will kill you if you make another comment. Woo someone else.”

“Be careful what you say Fox.”

She rolled her eyes and excused herself from the room, prowling about the garden. The first time she ventured in the vegetation filled pavillion, she was less than impressed by the statues Lucio had commissioned of himself. They were still there but she may have  _ accidentally _ broke a few without him knowing. If she had to stare at the same thing for hours upon hours, she didn’t need his visage plaguing her for longer. Aloween plopped down on the edge of the fountain and leaned back, enjoying the slight spray on the back of her neck. It was much too warm that day, but she’s never pass up an opportunity to bask in the sun.

It was so nice she almost fell asleep, her eyelids fluttering closed and her breathing becoming more even and deep. However, a sharp howl caused them to fly open. Bounding towards her was Melchior. She quickly hopped off the ledge just before the beast jumped at her. She slammed onto her back roughly, knocking the wind from her lungs.

“Gods, Melchior,” she groaned under his weight as he licked her face thoroughly. Strangely, the dog she had literally shot part of an ear off liked her much more than his sister, who lurked in the Palace’s small entrance. She beckoned the animal with a whistle and flick of her wrist, but it only stared at her. So stubborn.

“Are they wolves?”

The voice startled Aloween. She nearly gave herself whiplash as her head arched to view the speaker. Her skin was a dark tan but her defining trait were her gradient locks from reddish violet to blue purple. She fixed the hunter with a reddish stare.

“Your Majesty,” Aloween lightly ushered the dog off her chest and stood up, ignoring its whines. Melchior rubbed against her leg but barred his teeth as Nadia approached him. “Melchior, heel,” Aloween commanded. The dog sat but watched the foreign princess suspiciously. Mercedes intertwined herself with Aloween’s legs too.

“Pardon them, Your Majesty. They’re temperamental creatures, like their master.”

“They’re the Count’s?”

Aloween nodded. “His most prized treasures. This is Melchior and Mercedes.” She patted their heads with their names.

Nadia hummed, her focus on their heavily jeweled collars and Melchior’s ear. She raised a high eyebrow but didn’t comment. Aloween shifted tersely with the silence. “Is there anything you need, Your Majesty?” she asked, hoping to relieve the tension.

“What is the Count like?”

She clicked her tongue and looked askance. “He’s…eccentric.” 

“And what is the state of Vesuvia?”

“What do you mean?” her eyes narrowed, suspiciously. She’d heard rumors of the youngest Satrinava daughter being the most calculative, the most strategic, always trying to get ahead of her six older sisters. 

“Nevermind,” she sighed. “What would a mercenary know about public affairs?”

Aloween bit her cheek to bid her time when a different voice refuted on her behalf.

“A lot more than you would think, Noddy,” Lucio said as he walked towards the two women. His dogs immediately popped up and ran to his side.

“Noddy?” The princess looked properly scandalized.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Aloween choked on her own spit and gently elbowed him in the side. He frowned at her. “Princess  _ Nadia _ didn’t mean any harm by her statement, I’m sure.”

He shrugged and smirked at the princess, eyeing her up and down. Nadia narrowed her eyes sharply at him, which only made his smirk better. The atmosphere grew thick as the two dominances unconsciously clashed. Aloween cleared her throat and looked towards the purpling horizon.

“Your Majesties, it should be time for dinner. Let me escort you.”

Neither protested her, though they were still stuck in their heated staring competition. She coughed again and whistled to the dogs, who reluctantly left their master and slunk to her. Soon after, the two nobility followed suit. If the rest of the Prakran’s visit was to be similar to this exchange, it was going to be a long week for everyone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of swearing and violence

Aloween wasn’t expecting to be forcefully sat at the table with nobility, and she sat stiffly in her chair. The air was thick with tension and awkwardness and Lucio’s ego. The Count sat at the head of the table. She sat to his left, Nadia sat to his right, directly across from Aloween. The mercenary strategically stared at her plate. She knew if she looked up  _ both _ of the princess would be watching. She coughed and peaked at Lucio. He simply basked in the attention, swirling dark wine in a golden goblet held in his gold hand.

“So, Count Lucio,” the Queen spoke up. “How did you come to rule Vesuvia? To my recollection, it is a new city-state.”

“Yes, it is.” Aloween closed her eyes in a preemptive cringe. “I build it up from scratch, starting from killing the previous noble to get control.”

The Queen’s Consort spluttered into his own chalice, and Lucio’s smirk grew larger. He took a confident sip and licked his lips. She wondered if he purposely said the things he did because he loved to revel in others’ discomfort. It had to be impossible to be  _ that _ dense, right? She breathed in and out.

“You must have lots of enemies, Count,” the eldest daughter spoke up. Her voice was even and smooth. Almost eerie. Lucio’s confidence dwindled as she fixed him with a honey gaze, unafraid, unamused. Nafizah waited patiently for his answer, drawing Aloween’s own eyes away from her plate to flickering between the two.

“Of course, I do. But they won’t defeat me,” he replied cockily.

“How are you so sure? They’ve already gotten close once.” There was no denying, she blatantly stared at Aloween. The huntress’ mouth felt dry and her throat closed. How could she know? That wasn’t possible…She scanned the Crown Princess critically, noting the small turtle on top of her head—something she hadn’t noticed before—but thought nothing of it.

Lucio’s eyes darted to her as well but only for a second. He cleared his throat and tried to play off a smile again. “What do you mean? I’ve be perfectly safe.”

“But at what cost?” she mused. “I wonder if your mercenary would think the same.”

The two Vesuvians looked at each other and then back at the Prakran, stunned. “Are you a magician like my mercenary?” he blurted.

She didn’t even chuckle at the question, only slowly shook her head. “I am not a magician.”

“ _ She’s _ a magician?” Nadia interrupted, pointing at the woman in disbelief. Her skepticism and disdain was obvious to the point of rude.

“ _ Nadia _ !” her mother reprimanded. 

“It’s alright, Your Majesty,” Aloween quickly said, hoping to appease the glare the youngest Satrinava gave her way. “I can do very minor flame and healing major, but to call me a magician is an overstatement.”

“How did you learn?” the Royal Consort asked.

“My father taught me all he knew.”

“With such potential,” Nafizah said, “you could have lived a very different life. How did you become a mercenary of Vesuvia?”

Both Lucio and Aloween chortled quietly to the confusion of the Prakrans. After so many months, their first interactions were simply priceless and hilarious. “She shot Melchior’s ear off.” Lucio gawawed at her flush. All but the Crowned Princess raised their eyebrows and stared at her. 

“It was a complete accident, I assure you, Your Majesties. But it is true that we met because of that interaction. He was impressed with my skills and hired me.”

“How…eccentric.” Queen Nasrin sipped her chalice delicately. Her disapproval was clear. 

“It was an…interesting experience. But I am glad for it. The quality of my life and my experiences has drastically improved,” Aloween defended.

Nadia scoffed quietly. Lucio eyed her. He didn’t appreciate negative comments towards his fox, but, the longer his eyes stayed on her, the more he let go of that sentiment. She truly was a beauty. 

“What does your father think of this? Or your mother?”

Aloween reply was cool and finite. “They’re both dead. They have no opinions.”

“What a poor thing!” Nasrin exclaimed. Her husband agreed, and both of their glances were full of pity. She squared her shoulders.

“Not really,” she quickly switched the topics, wishing for once that Lucio would be his annoying and egocentric self and bring the focus back on him. He didn’t. “Princess Nadia, what is it like having six older sister? I’m an only child. I couldn’t imagine the competition.”

She knew it would strike a nerve, and the princess’ magenta eyes narrowed. Lucio grinned behind his cup. That was his fox. Quick-witted and sharp tongued, knew where and what would hurt. He watched as Nadia’s fingers tightened on the stem of her glass. He wanted to see how she’d react.

“It’s certainly an experience. For one, I am never lonely. I can always rely on family, particularly my sisters. That might be a bit difficult for you to understand, but I assure you, it’s one of the best feelings in the world.” 

Damn, Lucio head swiveled between the two women, watching as Aloween lost her lead and Nadia gained it. After their first talk, all those months ago, he had never brought up her father (well, he  _ had _ but she hadn’t answered). She kept him and her childhood close to her heart, but he knew it was painful. Finally, he piped up and drew the conversation to himself. The rest of dinner flowed more smoothly. Aloween didn’t talk unless absolutely necessary. She maintained her silence even as they retreated back to the Count’s quarters. She helped him undress without a single snarky comment.

She was about to retreat to his desk when he grabbed her hand tightly and flung her onto his bed, caging her in. Aloween rolled her eyes at him but didn’t do anything else. He frowned, lips pursed, and rubbed his flesh hand on her shoulder.

“Your tense Fox. Something happen at dinner?”

“Fuck off, Lucio.”

“Where was that temper before? Or is it something you specially reserve for me?”

Aloween brought up her knee harsly, hitting his inner thigh. He gasped and fell off of her. He glared when he realized that his second most precious thing was almost severely damaged. She sighed and sat up but didn’t leave the bed. She rested her chin on her hands and her elbows on her knees.

“I always wanted a real family,” she finally confessed. “A sibling, a real parent. Anything.”

“Families are overrated,” he snorted.

“Maybe. But I’ve always wanted one nonetheless.”

He sighed loudly and rolled off the bed, grabbing two cups and a bottle of expensive wine from his own personal collection, uncocking it with his teeth. She never realized how sharp his canine teeth her. He poured the liquid generously and handed her one, downing his own and refilling it. She arched a brow.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough tonight?”

“There is no such thing as too much wine, Fox.”

“You sound like Valerius,” she said with distaste. “I’m sure Valdemar is just counting down the days until he’s dead and able to be experimented on.”

“Oh  _ please _ . Don’t compare me to him. But, what do you think of Noddy? Quite a spirited woman. Not too bad on the eyes either.” Lucio licked a drop off his bottom lip, and Aloween’s entire face wrinkled.

“ _ Princess Nadia _ seems like a very critical woman, logical, rational. A bit bitchy,” she whispered the last part under her breath too quietly for Lucio to here. “If you’re thinking about marrying her, I strongly oppose it. You’ll end up killing each other.”

“She’s pretty. Nice hips and breasts.”

“Is that all you care about?”

Lucio pretended to think. “Hmm. Yeah,” he admitted blatantly and without an ounce of shame.

“Dear Arcana, help this man.” He glared at her, and she glared back. Aloween finally stood up from the bed and put down her untouched glass by his table. “I’ll be in my own rooms tonight, Count.” She headed to the door. It was opened and closed before he even had the chance to speak.

His smirk and attitude fell as the thud echoed in her newly silent chambers. He didn’t like his fox acting like this. It made him feel…weird. But, because he was Lucio, he didn’t dwell on it and quickly jumped into bed and fell asleep, head and stomach full of liquor. 

Aloween laid awake for hours. Sleep never came easily but it had only been worse in the past three months. She was glad, in a strange way, that she had to be awake to watch over him; it meant he never had to see her nightmares. Before the assassination attempt, her insomnia was prompted by habit, a fight or flight mechanism. Now, it was a result of fear. She was always frozen as the masked man came closer to her. She was silent as he stabbed her repeatedly with the blade. It was only when she was dying in agony from the poison was she able to do anything. She woke up just before she died, every time. She ran a hand over her scar. It, along with an actual wolf’s bite and the best claw marks, was raised. She still stood by he r motto—that scars weren’t ugly—but she wondered how many other people would think the same.

The thing was, the assassination reminded her of something she hadn’t ever thought of before. Marriage. She wasn’t fond of the idea itself but she wanted that bond. She wanted someone to hold her while she had felt like her body was being ripped apart from the inside out. She wanted some hold her when she couldn’t sleep. She wanted someone to tell her it would get better. But who would go for a girl like her when there were people like Nadia about?

She but her tongue harshly, tasting iron to snap herself out of her pity fest. She was better than this. She hadn’t needed a man or anyone else before, so she didn’t need one now.

Aloween turned on her side and closed her eyes, clutching her pillow tightly as she waited for the dream to start.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to update again. Finals are coming up so it's been a hectic few weeks.

Before the first sunlight even appeared in the sky, Aloween was awake and dressed, prepping herself with the necessary tools to face a day with the foreign and native courts. Preemptively, she placed the pills in her mouth and swallowed them, nearly gagging on the taste. Julian gave them to her when he noticed her squeezing her eyes shut more and more often. The noise of everyday life was too loud and the courtiers gave her a headache almost from the mere sight of them. He said the pills would put her mind at ease, help prevent the pain. Aloween didn’t know if they worked or not, but she might as well test them today. 

She wondered if she should have asked him for sleeping medicine, too.

For the few hours between the infant dawn and Lucio’s awakening, Aloween wandered the dark and quiet halls until she reached an open balcony on the sixth floor. The sixth floor was very rarely frequented, no one wanting to make the journey. But she felt refreshed by the climb, despite what she had told Lucio all those months ago. If he had taken off her handcuffs, she would have run up however many steps if it meant freedom. She kicked her legs over the railing and locked them around the stone balusters. All of Vesuvia was on display, even the newly completed Lazaret in the distance. 

Aloween let her hands fall into her lap, absentmindedly rubbing the outside of her wrist with her thumb as if soothing a phantom pain away. The scars were slight but there was some indication of her two days in chains. Gods, had it been terrifying but fun. She’d never forget Lucio’s face and anger that day. She laughed lightly, bittersweetly. Where had that fire in her gone? She felt…tame in comparison to most everyone around her, which was an extraordinary feat. She needed adventure, she hated the feeling of her blood flowing softly in her veins. The addrenaile, the hype, the fear, the triumph. She needed it. She craved it. 

The sky was thoroughly pink and orange with hints of blue streaks when she finally hopped off the railing, giving the city one last look. A look that even she couldn’t have deciphered. Taking her time to the second floor, she felt the pressure on her shoulders building. He wouldn’t take it well, and she didn’t even know if the Prakrans would accept. But she had a few days to think it through and word her proposal well. 

She knocked on his door. A loud groan echoed in response. She opened the door and kicked it shut, grinning at the loud sound and narrowly dodging a pillow. Lucio had his face have pressed into the pillow, his flesh arm covering his eyes. His hair was as disheveled as the blankets that were half-on, half-off her body and the bed. Manchild in his natural habitat. Aloween briskly walked to the large window and pushed open the curtains, letting the glaring sun in. She caught the next pillow thrown at her with a hand and sent it back. It hit his face and he exhaled in surprise. 

“You have a meeting in thirty minutes with the Prakran court. Get up.” No “Your Majesty” or “Count” or “please.” Some days—most days—Lucio regretted giving her so much power over him.

“I have you. Why do I need to go?” he grumbled under his arm, yawning and turning over to sleep again. He felt his eyes drifting shut when something else hit his face. Heavy. Lucio opened his eyes to see his cloak in front of him. The fur tickled his nose and he sneezed, shoving it away. Not too far away from the bed (but far enough that he couldn’t reach her) stood Aloween. She looked differently. She wasn’t wearing a dress, and he doubted she ever would again. But she wasn’t wearing her normal garments either. Instead, her shirt was laced in the front until her waist, where it split open and trailed to the floor. Contrasting with the deep plum were pristine black pants and shoes. She looked professional. Even her unruly hair was slicked back into a braid. 

“Is there are reason you’re staring at me Lucio?”

“You look nice Fox. Almost like a woman. Trying to seduce me?” he grinned cattily at her, eyebrows raised suggestively.

She snorted and threw him more clothes. “If anything, I’d say that you’re trying to seduce yourself through me. That dress from yesterday, it won’t ever happen again. You get me fully clothed, like a mercenary should be.”

“So either covered completely or covered none?”

“Ye—” she stopped when she realized what he had said and glared at him. He laughed under his breath. 

Lucio had noticed her temper fading as the months passed by. Aloween became more melancholy, more lethargic. He’d tried bringing out that temper he enjoyed so much more and more, but some days it was there, some days it wasn’t. He noticed in her eyes and body that even when the temper did come out, it never lasted more than a few minutes. Something was wrong with her, he just couldn’t figure out what. 

Brought back to the present rapidly but almost getting smacked with a shoe, he stood from his bed. Aloween’s eyes immediately darted away. He didn’t normally sleep in the nude, but a night guest and a chance to get a rise out of his mercenary were never opportunities he was willing to pass up. 

“Gods, Lucio, put your damn clothes on.”

“Why? Don’t you prefer things natural?”

“No.” Blunt. 

He frowned but complied, slipping on his pants and boots and barely putting his shirt on. It hung loosely off his torso. Aloween went to his dressed and picked up something. She fixed his shirt, slapping his chest lightly in reprimand, and put his cape around him. It was less…ostentatious than the others. But to make up for the lack of flamboyance, she motioned for him to bend down. She fixed the heavy necklace around his neck. Lucio glanced in the mirror. He couldn’t deny, she did have a sense of style. 

“Lucio? Are you okay? You’re quiet.”

He didn’t respond, making Aloween worry more. Instead, he headed towards the door, leaving her alone in his room. She looked down at her fists and exhale. She left the room and followed him to the main hall, where the Prakran nobility were already assembled by the other servants. She avoided the daughters’ eyes but bowed to them all. That is, until she felt a tight grip on her arm nearly wrenching her up. Lucio barely turned to her as he dipped his head down.

“You bow to no one but me, Fox,” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. 

“If you command.” Aloween straightened, her back stiff as she stood to the Count’s right, only a step below his throne. She was the only one ever allowed on the pedestal. The rest of the council—all the courtiers and Valerius (thought Valdemar never made an appearance in court)—were gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

“So,” Lucio’s voice carried throughout the entire hall. “I’m to show you the best of the city today, am I not? Our councils can discuss all the politics.”

“With all due respect, Count Lucio,” Queen Nasrin stepped forward, “I do not let my country’s affairs rest in the hands of my council. I am directly involved in the decision making, I will listen to what your council proposes.”

Aloween could almost hear him grinding his teeth. Discreetly, she laid a finger on his arm in warning not to act irrationally. Irrational? When was Lucio ever that? But he let her take control of the situation. Aloween took a step forward, commanding all attention. It was hot to see her speaking authoritatively, he decided. 

“Your Majesties, I understand the sentiment. Forgive my boldness, but I believe you misinterpreted the Count’s meaning. Let us explore Vesuvia more while the morning breeze is still present and discuss politics after.” Damn was she good at all this negotiation stuff. 

“I see. Then let us explore Vesuvia,” the Prakran queen agreed, though everyone knew it was politeness that dictated her words. Everyone knew what the Count had truly meant. 

Aloween nodded and stepped back. She noticed Valerius staring at her distatefully, as if her mere presence soured his wine. She could relate. His stupid face and braid dropped her mood, until she squared her shoulders. Who was appointed to stand next to the fucking Count of Vesuvia? Not the fucking consul who the count  _ used _ to fuck. She let her bitterness flare and didn’t look away. Neither heard what else was said, too absorbed in expressing their hate with their eyes.

“Mercenary,” Lucio’s voice was commanding, slightly angry. Had she missed something?   
  


She noticed his face was tight like he’d eaten a lemon. HEr gaze lost its bitter edge, replaced with worry. “Yes, Count Lucio?”

“We’re going to escort the Prakrans around  _ my _ ,  _ gorgeous _ Vesuvia,” he emphasized. No one was impressed. “I expect you to handle the details.”

In the corner of her peripheral vision, Aloween watched Valerius tighten his grip on the glass stem. Any more pressure and he’d snap it. She bowed. “Of course, Count.”

She strode with purpose out of the hall but sagged once she was out of sight. Politics bored her to no end. And she hated how she could  _ feel _ Princess’ Nazifah’s eyes on her the entire time. Why was she so unnerved by the Crowned Princess? She breathed for a few minutes before pushing off the wall and walking to the guards quarters. She whistled loudly to get their attention.

“We’re going into town today.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apologize for not updating for so long, here's two chapters in one day!

With a small company of highly skilled guards, the large party of nobles attracted lots and lots of attention. Not all of that was good attention, but Lucio’s reputation censored their voices and actions. Aloween wished he wasn’t so flippant when it came to chopping people’s heads off, something she had tried to discuss with him on several occasions. He was getting better but his record was permanently stained. That and the Lazaret were enough to instil fear in anyone. Alas, she was thankful, in this one instance, that nearly no one wanted to bother them.

The tour was peaceful as they visited the Temple District, full of statues of the Arcana and of Lucio himself. Aloween never noticed it but the artist placed Lucio’s statue closest to the Devil. It was quite a clever insult. She doubted Lucio even knew. 

No that he was even paying attention. Aloween kept a close eye on her noble, unsurprised to find him in the back of the group, eyeing the youngest princess. Princess Nadia looked uncomfortable with the attention but also like she was…enjoying it. There was something critical, logical, in her features when she entertained the Count’s banter. Lucio was none the wiser, of course. Or if he was, he pretended not to notice. Aloween had to continually remind herself that this man came from the Scourge of the South, that this man was once a fearsome hunter who murdered Vesuvia’s previous ruler. 

Aloween paused in the Flooded District while they were over a bridge and stared into the water. Thin red lines swam in packs underneath. Despite her pestering, Lucio still hadn’t installed railings along the canals. She cautioned the nobles of that fact as she gestured for them to peer into the water. Lucio had a hand wrapped around Nadia’s shoulder as she dipped her head forward, pulling back nearly instantly.

“The canal system runs throughout all of Vesuvia, as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. But don’t fall into the water.” They all turned to see her staring at the swimming, pulsing crimson creatures hatefully. “They are filled with vampire eels.”

“Vampire eels?!”

“Yes. They’re both a curse and a blessing. They keep the canals clean and fresh from parasites and other unwanted creatures, but they do pose a threat to us as well. Their bites aren’t always fatal, but they can be.” She thought back to an incident a month ago, something that only further increased her wanting of railings. A young girl, eight years old, had fallen in. She didn’t make it out.

Quickly moving off the bridge and out of the Flooded District, Aloween guided them into the Center City and then Goldgrave. By far the wealthiest district, Goldgrave was always bustling with life and lights—from the earliest hours in the morning to the latests hours at night. Today was no exception.

“As you can see, Your Majesties, Goldgrave is the economic hub of Vesuvia,” she explained. “It draws in the most tourists, you could say.”

“It is beautiful indeed,” the queen agreed, playing with a glass wind chime that hung from a vender’s shop front. 

“It’s stunning. The colors and vibrancy reminds me of the Prakran markets,” her husband remarked.

“Vesuvia may be a new nation but it certainly is growing and developing.”

“And to think that you have not yet even lived here for a year. You speak of this place with such affection,” Queen Nasrin commented. 

Aloween faltered in her steps. Was that true? She shook her head. Smile and agree now, think about it later. “Of course. Vesuvia is my home.” She quickly glanced at the Count. He was still preoccupied with Princess Nadia. Good. She took a shaky, deep breath. “Though I must admit, Your Majesties, that, while it has my heart, I still yearn to explore the world.”

“What do you mean?” Nafizah spoke for the first time.

“Your Majesties, I lived my life as a nomadic hunter. Settling in one place was never an option. I loved the freedom. I cannot abandon my Count, but I cannot deny that I wish to explore again. But…ehm…Vesuvia’s prized community theatre is right there.”

She saw in their faces the seed of pity and curiosity she had planted. But then she felt something in her eye. She brought a finger up and pulled away a salty droplet. A tear? No, she couldn’t be sad about her decision. She  _ wouldn’t _ let herself be sad. The Count would be fine, Vesuvia would be fine. She would be fine. None of the guards, if they had seen her moment of weakness, commented on it. Aloween continued to lead the group through the city with fake enthusiasm and spirit. They entered the Floating Market in the Heart District, and let the foreign monarchy take in the views. This was her favorite district besides the gritty places she visited late at night that were not suitable for nobles. Lucio didn’t know she visited them. 

But something felt off. And she only noticed when it was too late. Dressed like any normal rich woman, she slipped past the guard’s attention and even Aloween’s until she caught a whiff of a scent. She froze instantly. The only time she had smelled that was  _ that _ night. 

Lucio and Nadia had left the main group, and only three guards accompanied them. They were oblivious to the woman sneaking up behind them. 

Aloween spun in a circle in panic, ignoring the Prakrans’ concerns. Where were they? 

“Lucio!” she shouted. It was inappropriate to address him without a title but that thought didn’t even cross her mind. 

The count raised his eyes, immediately alert. She cried his name with fear. He immediately pushed the princess behind him and drew his sword, which he had insisted he wear. The guards, too, drew their weapons. He tried to spot his auburn mercenary in the crowd, which should have been easy considering the rarity of her hair color, but he couldn't see her at all.

“Aloween! Protect them!” he ordered, hoping his voice carried across.

There was an eerie still mate as the tourists and natives hid in their shops and homes. Then, fireworks exploded on the ground and everyone was thrown into chaos. Black gunpowder and smoke clouded the air and Aloween pulled out her own sword, something she always had courtesy of her profession. She fought of attackers that dodged in and out of the clouds. Someone grabbed onto Nafizah’s hair but she cut off her his. The Crowned Princess was barely fazed, but the Queen and the Queen’s Consort were terrified. 

“Keep them safe!” she yelled above the chaos to the other eight guards, they nodded and formed a tight circle around the Prakran nobles.

She dodged away from the protection, dodging and slicing blindly. There was a tiny nick on her arm, but it was made from normal steel. The smoke stung her eyes, but she pushed through. She navigated the streets using Lucio’s obnoxious voice. Even in battle, he taunted everyone around him. She could hardly make out his golden hair, lunging to take out one attacker that snuck up on a guard. He nodded to her and she joined their circle. 

“Aloween! What are you doing here?” his voice was strained with exertion but bright with enthusiasm.

“They’re fine. There’s an assassin.”

“You think?” he laughed.

“No, Lucio.” He stopped laughing. “She different than these. I lost her.” Aloween narrowly blocked an oncoming swing from hitting Nadia. The princess was cowering by the edge of the street. “We need to get them out of here!”

She grabbed Princess Nadia’s hand, about to drag her away, when a scream cut through the air. The guard dropped dead and a woman took her place. It was the same one Aloween had seen before. She shoved Nadia behind her, placing her sword between herself and the assassin. The woman smiled wickedly at them and started to fight. It became apparent instantly that Aloween was not her target. Nadia was. 

Slowly, they were pushed back towards the edge. Aloween fought with all her strength but a sword is lanky and awkward compared to a knife. She was able to drive her point through the assassin’s defense and puncture her shoulder. The woman fell to her knees, rolling to avoid a decapitating swing, but not fast enough to counter the follow up attack. Aloween breathed harshly as the woman’s blood seeped into the cracks between the cobblestones. Only then did she register the bells blaring in the distance and the reinforcements that flooded the district. She relaxed.

But she let down her guard too early. And it was too late when she realized that.

Nadia screamed as she fell into the canal. Aloween ran and dove into the water after her, barely feeling fingertips brush against her hair as she ran past him. The water sent a cold shock through her body, paralyzing her for a moment. But her head cleared instantly when something clear and red swam past her. She kicked her legs, using the current’s momentum to catch up to the princess. She wrapped an arm around Nadia’s waist and tried to haul her up. The combined weight of their garments and her exhaustion worked against her, and she only succeeded and bringing their heads above water for breath before they both were dragged under. The princess let out a gargled wail when something dragged its teeth along her arm. Aloween gritted her teeth and kicked off the canal floor, launching the princess to the side. Nadia grabbed onto the edge and was pulled up by guards.

Aloween paused when she felt something attach itself to her leg, and the water clouded more red. Her hand skimmed by the edge, unable to hold onto it. Another vampire eel dug into her side. It made her inhale, and the water flooded her lungs, choking her. She felt like she was going to die.

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t let it end like this. Using the last of her strength, Aloween pushed off the bottom, reaching through the water’s surface, and latching onto the edge. The eroded stone bit into her hand as she hauled herself up. Aloween flopped onto her back, coughing out water. Her vision blackened and lightened, like an indecisive cloud in front of the sun. She couldn’t hear anything. She could hardly feel anything either. Aloween tried to sit up when the eel nestled in her side pulled on the muscle. She screeched and slammed back. 

Gasping for breath, her hand fumbled along her side until it bumped into something squishy and slimy. She reached around its slick body and tugged on it harshly. It didn’t want to let go, so Aloween pulled harder, unaware of the further damage she was causing. Its teeth unlatched with a pop and she tossed it away. Then she skimmed down her thigh until she reached the other one and did the same. 

She didn’t know how far down the canal she had drifted, what district she was in. Probably far enough away that they wouldn’t find her until it was too late. She tried to concentrate to heal herself, but it was her head pounded of fiercely she couldn’t form a coherent thought. Her eyes threatened to close but she knew if they did, they would never reopen. It was painful but every time she felt them slip, she dug a finger into her side wound. The pain kept her alive. 

Breathing through her nose, Aloween ripped off her outside coat, exposing the darkening shirt underneath, and attempted to sit up, pushing through the pain. Using the ground, she tried to stand and almost tripped back into the canal. She fell onto a knee. Spitting out more water, she tried again, standing unsteadily. Her vision blinked in and out as she stumbled along the dark alley. Was it really dark? Aloween didn’t know. She leaned on the many buildings in support, slamming into the wood unintentionally when her body pitched over. 

Just. Keep. Moving.

She fell again, but two arms caught her. Her head hit a firm chest before it was quickly cradled in the crook of an elbow. Sharp tips smoothed the wet hair away from her face. She couldn’t distinguish the face, only lips moving. She couldn’t hear it.

Another blurry figure kneeled by her side. She didn’t notice him stretching tentative fingers towards her wound until she somewhat felt the prodding. She squirmed but didn’t make any noise, worrying the men even more. She couldn’t hear what they said, couldn’t see their lips move as the shadows crowded her vision and turned it black.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS UPDATE TOOK SO LONG. So I had apparently written four pages for this chapter and just forgotten about them, but I did finish it. It is a bit shorter than the last chapter. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!!

Lucio paced outside the room. His dogs’ eyes followed his every move—back and forth, back and forth. By now, all of Vesuvia had heard of the attempt on the foreign nobility’s lives and of the count’s mercenary. Some rumors claimed she was already dead, others that she’d been the one to orchestrate the attack. Some whispered that she was never hurt, but some believed she’d been gravely injured protecting the count, her lover. 

Lucio knew that Aloween would have been somewhere between furious and indifferent to the gossip about her on the streets had she been in a condition to hear them. No, she remained, still and pale, in that bed for the third day. Even when she’d been poisoned, she’d been awake for at least some of the time. Not this time; after she passed out in his arms, she’d hadn’t opened her eyes. Despite Jules’ attempts at assuaging his nonexistent fears, the count knew something was wrong. Valdemar stepped outside the door, blood smeared on their apron. They took off their mask and cocked their head as if surprised to see the count.

“How is she?” Lucio asked, failing to maintain the impassiveness in his voice.

“There is the possibility that she could still die,” the quaestor said. They had a wistful look to their face that dulled as they continued. “But the worst is over now. Her extreme bloodlost is the cause of her sleep, no poison this time.”  _ Unfortunately _ they seemed to want to add. “However, if she does not wake by tomorrow morning, it is unlikely she will ever wake again. Only time can tell now.”

“What hasn’t she healed herself?! She has magic!”

Valdemar’s eyes glittered, their glee annoying Lucio. “Yes, that is the question, is it not? From my experience, healing requires an incantation or, at the bare minimum, some stream of conscious thought. Considering our dear mercenary can perform neither of those things in her current condition, she can’t heal herself.”

Lucio’s heeled boots hit the floor harshly, like a child throwing a tantrum, as he threw open the door. Julian lingered in the corner, mixing elixirs and whatever else he did, but paused when he heard the wood slam. The count glared at him and, without verbal command, the doctor left the room quickly. Now was not the time to disobey the count, especially since he had ordered the searches and raids until there was news about the assassins. 

He pulled a chair next to the bed and just watched her. She played the part of a corpse well except for the slight rise in her chest. There was a lump in his throat. 

“I thought you were a hunter? Why do you keep getting injured?” Aloween didn’t move in response to his question. He sighed. “Those nobles want to thank you for saving their daughter. What was her name? Noddy? Anyways, we’ve finalized the trade deal and even struck up an alliance. They apparently trust us now because of your,” he waved a hand around, trying to think of the right word, “sacrifice.” He cringed. Not quite what he meant. “Of course it would be much better if you were awake when they finally leave, so wake up now.”

She disobeyed his command and his shoulders slumped.

“Why did you do it? I don’t understand. Either time. You got poisoned for me and bled out for that princess. Aren’t you not supposed to care about people? Though, you did protest against the Lazaret.” 

He scoffed, desperately trying to rebuild that mental wall even if she was unconscious to see it fall. He was strong, he was proud. He shouldn’t be bothered by his…a mercenary who worked for him dying or getting injured. 

So why did he? 

He sat by her side for three hours, ranting about anything and everything. When he’d run out of things to say, Lucio left the room and found Julian. The good doctor had been scribbling notes into his journal on the ground, his long legs stretched out. He had dark circles under his eyes. Good, that meant he was watching Aloween closely. 

“The second she’s awake, I want to know,” he ordered.

“Of course.” Julian hid a yawn behind a nod and stood up, going back into the room.

Lucio pursed his lips, completely and utterly restless. He decided to just wander. Up past his rooms, past the fourth floor. He let his feet carry him to the sixth floor. This was where his mercenary hid, wasn’t it? He remembered when she’d refused rooms near his own chambers and picked a room on one of the farthest floor. But standing on the balcony now, he could understand why. It was higher than anything else in the city, and he could see all the way to the sea. It was unobstructed and…freeing. It had the perfect view for the evening sky, too. Did she stargaze often? 

Breaking free of the view’s hold, he stalked up and down the corridor, opening and shutting doors until he found her chambers. She’d seen his (thought it was on his orders), so he had ever right to invade hers. 

To his dismay, it was dull. So dull he would have guessed that no one lived there. There were no large mirrors or fancy desks or extravagant decorations. Her closet still had lots of space as did her bureaus. On her bed were only deep blue sheets and blankets with no fancy embroidery. Gods, how did she live so bleakly? The only place of interest was her desk. 

Books were stacked high, one pile started from the floor and reached up to the top. He scanned through all the titles. Most where Vesuvian history books but some were on Prakra and their customs. Had she really read through all of these just for a visit? One book caught his eye in particular. It was different from the others - leather bound with strings to hold the pages together. It was old and worn. He flipped through the pages. In the beginning, it was just words in a language he couldn’t read with her illegible scribbles in the margin. But the end…he paused to read. 

Lucio stood absolutely still, frozen, when he finished and sniffed. With a gentleness that was completely uncharacteristic of him, he shut the book and pretended it never existed. He wasn’t meant to see that. No one was. He busied himself with everything else in her room, trying to forget the words. He opened all her draws and searched the contents for a distraction. He found the pain medication given to her by Julian and frowned. Was she still hurt? Did she not tell him?

He began to regret ever coming into her room. His fists curled at a strange thought that crossed his mind. From all the things he’d just learned and with how much she kept to herself, he realized that perhaps he didn’t know Aloween at all. She hadn’t been truthful about her past either, though he supposed he couldn’t blame her. Their first meeting wasn’t the most pleasant experience. 

Lucio wasn’t sure if the fact that she kept things from him or that it bothered him that she didn’t trust him made him more irritated, and his confusion morphed into anger and annoyance. Damn her. 

He slammed her door shut with so much force, it rattled in the door frame even as he walked away. His teeth grinded against each other, grating almost loudly enough for the servants to hear it. Lucio grabbed one by the collar of his shirt, bringing him close to his face. The fear on the servant’s face was so palpable, and the Count felt an unhealthy surge of sadistic happiness. The rage in his stomach only grew.

“If anyone disturbs me tonight, I’ll have them hanged in the morning. Tell Jules, too, that if Aloween awakes, she belongs in the dungeon,” Lucio snarled. His golden claw poked holes in the servant’s shirt.

“Of-of course,” the servant stammered, scampering away as soon as the Count loosened his hold.

ucio entered his own chambers. The silence was overwhelming, and his reflection seemed to Lucio entered his own chambers. The silence was overwhelming, and his reflection seemed to mock him from the large mirror. Before he even realized, his golden fist swung, and the glass shattered, splintering onto the floor. Then he let the whole fram topple. Melchior and Mercedes yelled outside his door, and he shouted at them to be quiet. Both sets of fingers dug into his scalp and hair, tugging at the roots as he sat on his bed. Lucio let his body fall backwards and stared at the ceiling, unseeing. 

Slowly, his eyes fluttered shut.

But after, what to him was only a few seconds but was really several hours, they snapped open. Springing out of his bed, he dashed over the broken glass and threw open the heavy doors. Remembering that he was supposed to be a feared leader, the Count slowed his pace only slightly as he headed towards the medical wing. 

It was as if sleep had cleared away all his bad moods, but, in reality, they changed like the tide naturally. Lucio had forgiven Aloween for all her misgivings, he’d tell her that first thing. The creepy doctor did say that she would wake up this morning if at all, and, of course, she was going to wake up. 

The door to her temporary room flew against the wall, startling Julian from his chair. He fell to the ground with a thud but quickly rose to greet the count. His face was paler than normal but Lucio didn’t seem to notice. 

“Where’s Aloween?”

The doctor bit his tongue and slowly moved away from the table. Lucio didn’t feel his heart stop, but the pulse got stronger until it was the only thing he could hear.

Aloween’s eyes were still closed. She hadn’t woken up. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the delay in the update. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy.

The first sign was the tear that dripped and snaked its way from her eye to the bed. One beaded drop and then another. Then the smallest of inhales, a mere gasp. Julian thought he heard her move but, from his position, he saw nothing. He went back to writing in his journal, head propped up on his head. He’d been searching a cure incessantly since Aloween hadn’t woken up on the predicted day. It wasn’t just for her, he had to admit, that he worked so hard and for so long. It was for all of their sakes. Since she’d stayed asleep, Vesuvia and its count had deteriorated. 

He hadn’t realized how much of a difference Aloween had made in life at the Palace and for life as a citizen. She was smart and had quickly learned the in-and-outs of the culture and of the people. Slowly, Lucio’s popularity had begun to rise after she forced him to pay more attention to his subjects and less to his precious self. She’d been a catalyst for something good and spectacular…but since she’d been gone, it had all gone to hell.

Lucio had fallen back into his old habits and had fallen hard. The man’s room was never empty, at least one servant or courtier keeping him company late into the night. Julian couldn’t care less about the Count’s promiscuous behaviors (he’d had his own fair share) but he knew they were only a distraction. If he stayed in bed and fucked throughout both the day and night, he didn’t have to be responsible for his kingdom. Lucio never attended the council meetings anymore, and his consul had nearly driven Vesuvia back into poverty and debt. They spent money on whatever they wanted and the people were suffering. 

The good doctor glanced back at his comatose patient, praying to any gods or arcana that might exist, that she would still miraculously awake.

Stretching his back and hearing a series of cracks down his spine, Julian left the room for some fresh air. Staying in there for too long never made him feel good. Instead, he drifted towards the library. Occasionally, he’d find Aloween in there, but now he was the only one that visited the books. Even the servants didn’t enter.

But as luck would have it, the instant door to the room had fully closed, blank eyes fluttered open. They felt heavy and droopy, and for the first several moments of fluid consciousness, Aloween could only blink. Her mind was strangely empty, not a single thought crossing it. She stared uncomprehendingly at the ceiling, eyes traveling the beams and finding all the cracks. Dazed. Tranced. Her breath was slow and even, and, if one hadn’t seen her open her eyes, they would think her still asleep. Her finger twitched involuntarily and that was the shock. Her pulse lept into her throat, beating erratically and quickly. She breathed through her mouth in short spurts. Pain flooded her nerves, particularly residing in her leg and waist. Using what little control over her body she possessed, Aloween rolled herself off the bed. Her knees slammed to the floor, causing her to wince. She felt dizzy and distraught, tired and sick. 

Gripping the edge of the bed, she tried to stand. One foot then another. It was as if her body had completely unlearned to stand and walk. Aloween gritted her teeth and tested her balance, feeling like an infant ready to take its first steps. Her knees buckled from the weight and disuse but she didn’t collapse. One foot then another. It took her thrice as long as a normal person to reach the door, and even then, she leaned on it heavily. Her body didn’t scream at her to stop, but tugged at her like dead weight, sluggishly slowing her down. Closing her eyes, Aloween maneuvered her hand to the doorknob, struggling to contract the muscles around the handle to push it in. Her fingers obeyed slowly and wrapped around the metal. She used her shoulder to swing the heavy frame open. The light assaulted her eyes, and they watered from the brightness.

Aloween staggered down the abandoned hall, still not yet comprehending what had happened. She couldn’t recognize the cream and purple walls or the gold and pink columns, but something itched at the back of her mind that she’d been her before but that something was wrong. It was all a dense fog. Her breath was labored as she found a hidden set of stairs and started climbing them. Voices drifted from here and there, but she didn’t see anyone. Was it all in her head? Aloween’s temple throbbed and pulsed with each step until she was forced to take a break and rest against the wall. Her fingers were cold to the touch as she rubbed the sides of her head. She felt nauseous, but she sucked in a breath and continued forward, focusing on the smooth stones under her feet. 

Finally, she reached the exit. Looking around, she hoped for something familiar. There was a slight tug in her gut to go left but she really didn’t know. It was a better guess than nothing, though, so Aloween headed down the hall. And then she stopped. There were footsteps approaching. Her legs carried her as quickly as they could to the closest door. She tried it, but it was locked. She hobbled to the next one and yanked it open. Shutting it without a sound, Aloween slid down the door, keeping her back pressed against it. She heard the person pause right outside and held her breath. Her hands clenched by her sides, and her body tensed. Aloween was as still as a statue until she was sure the person had moved away from the door.

When the coast was clear, Aloween unfurled her body and peered around the room. The pain in her head flared when she stared at the red bed and the chandelier. Had she been here before? Slowly, she moved to the disorganized desk. Books were open and scattered haphazardly, like someone had given up halfway through reading them. She flicked between pages, trying to find something to tell her about where she was, but most were on Prakra or the South. She moved on.

She stood by the bed and led her hand drift across the silky, red covers. A frown marred her face as she rubbed the material between two fingers. This couldn’t be a mistake, her body couldn’t duper her this much. She  _ must _ have been here before. But why couldn’t she remember? Aloween turned towards the nightstand and opened the drawers, finding nothing of importance except for oil and some other…things that she quickly put back or didn’t even dare touch. She rummaged through the dresser next, sifting through clothes. However, she paused abruptly when she opened the bottom drawer. Aloween picked up the small dagger, eyes wide, heart racing. 

This had hurt her before hadn’t it? Hurt her really badly. 

In a trance, she ran her finger along the edges of the blade, so very careful not to puncture her skin. She looked up from the knife and didn’t see the room anymore. Well, it was the same room but it wasn’t the same time. It was dark and someone was sleeping in the bed while she was by the desk. It was almost too dark to see anything, a single, lone candle next to her. Then there was a noise, and everything happened too much. Did someone attack her? There was shouting and broken glass and then she was on the floor. Her arm…

Aloween frantically rolled up her sleeve. Lo and behold, there was a tiny, near white scar on her forearm, no bigger than a few centimeters. She spun in circles, panicked. Where was she?

And then the door opened.

They stared at each other in silence, both equally confused. He shut the door behind him and took one step forward, cocking his head like she was a mirage. Aloween stepped back and held the knife out in front of her. He was taller than her, not by much but by enough that he could overpower her. His head was blonder than anything she’d seen before and his eyes were icy blue. Attractive but dangerous. Her eyes burned as her mind screamed, and her knees almost buckled. 

“Aloween?” His voice, she knew that voice? HOW?

She dropped her gaze from his face and stared at the ground, dagger still pointed outward. “Who are you?” 

“What?” He came towards her, and she brandished the knife.

“Who are you? Where am I?”

He scoffed, walking closer still, unafraid of her. “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled angrily as he reached for the knife. 

Aloween instinctively struck out like a viper, swinging the sharp knife through the air. The man barely had time to dodge before she slashed again. He jumped back, eyes ablaze.

“What are you doing, you crazy bitch? You could have hurt me?”

“Who are you?!”

“This is not happening,” he grumbled, sighing. HIs arrogant features rearranged into something less offensive, almost caring. “Aloween, you’re safe. You can trust me, hand over the knife.”

“No,” she denied immediately.

He growled slightly. “I’ll just take it from you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she sneered. 

He was much quicker than Aloween had anticipated, and before either of them knew it, they were locked in battle between a knife and his claw. She kneed him in the stomach, but, despite his huff of pain, he caught that leg and forced her to the ground. They tousled some more until he sat atop her, but she drew a small red line across his chest. He hissed and bucked backwards. 

“That’s it.”

Aloween gasped as he grabbed onto her wrist and wrangled the knife away, skidding it across the floor so that it was out of reach. She struggled and squirmed and shifted desperately, but a warm hand on her throat halted that. It squeezed but only lightly, with hardly any pressure. It was a warning, not an attack. She tried to lift it off with both hands but to no avail.

“Aloween, stop!” he shouted. She glared up at him and did just the opposite.

“Aloween!” His hand moved from her neck to her jaw, holding her in place. His claw rested next to her head. “What is wrong with you?”

“Who are you?”

“Lucio. Your count, ruler of Vesuvia,” he finally answered, confusion palpable in his response. He became angry and passionate. “Of course you would do this. Scare me and everyone into thinking you’re never going to wake up and then when you do, you don’t remember anything. Stop pretending.”

“I don’t know who you are!” she protested, flailing her legs.

Lucio just watched her face, the pressure on her jaw loosening. Using his distraction, she leaned up as hard as she could and headbutted him. He yelped and was displaced from his position of power, and she escaped from underneath him, dashing up and out the door. However, it wasn’t long before he tackled her again, pinning her almost exactly as he had before except her hands were pressed between her chest and his.. Lucio was panting but, for a reason she couldn’t fathom, he wore a smile.

“You don’t want to remember, I’ll make you remember,” he said.

“What—?”

He was kissing her, and she was about to bite his tongue when her mind fell into place. She froze immediately, eyes open but blinking fast. Oh gods, Aloween pushed against his chest lightly, and the count quickly broke the kiss. She ignored the saliva that coated her inner lip as she gazed up at him, stretching at small hand to his face but stopping right before she touched his skin.

“Lucio?”

“Oh you remember me now—”

She punched him right in the middle of sternum and used her legs to flip him over her and onto his back. She rolled and climbed atop, switching their positions. Aloween pinned his arms above his head. Her head fell around his face, and he inhaled. She smelled like Julian’s shampoo. He hated that. She always had this forest-y, wood-y, parchment-y smell. His eyes drifted to her exposed collarbone up to her eyes.

“Yes?”

“You ever kiss me without my permission again, and I will kill you. Count be damned, Lucio, I swear to all the gods”

“Ooh, the little Fox has her bark back, but does she have her bite? Tell me in detail what you would do to me if I kissed you again,” he slurred, unconsciously lifting his head up so that they shared the same air.

Her face contorted before she burst out laughing and sat back on his hips. His mouth popped open and the tips of his ears blushed. All her weight was placed in an uncomfortable spot for him and he shifted awkwardly. Thankfully, she stood up and extended a hand to him. He grasped it, grinning, and he got to his feet.

“It’s good to have you back Fox.”

  
“Yeah, yeah it is. But I’m not kidding. If you ever kiss me again…” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I am finally back (it's been rough weeks going, if I'm completely honest. You ever spent your childhood being told how great something is only for it not to really meet that expectation. Haha, my choice of college.) ANYWAYS, here is finally a new chapter. I'm not sure if I like how things progressed, but hopefully none of it seems to uncharacteristic. Please let me know what you think. :D
> 
> Also, I will be going back through previous chapters to revise and edit them.

She was still weak from her several-week-long stint in a coma. Some of her memory was fuzzy, a common side effect supposedly Julian had said. She should be lucky it wasn’t major details but having parts of your memory missing was still terrifying. And it wasn't just her memory that had deteriorated; her nutrition and muscle levels were significantly decreased. The doctor prescribed a hefty vitamin and pill list, monitoring her carefully and hawkishly for any sign of a relapse. For as charming as Julian was, Aloween was nearly ready to bite his head off after two weeks of his hovering. Once, she had unconsciously tossed a thick book at his head just to get him to shut up. It’d given him a headache, but it didn’t lesson his tongue, unfortunately. He had only gone on to describe that she would be lacking control over her actions and emotions for a while too, and that she didn’t need any extra stressors. 

Yeah, that had lasted for approximately two whole seconds before she was let out of her chambers.

A vase flew through the air and crashed into the wall a few centimeters from Lucio’s head. His eyes widened before they lazily narrowed again, and he crossed his legs, the picture of unperturbed. Julian was frozen, paused in the door frame.

Lucio looked over at him, almost pouting. “I thought you said it would take at least a few months to regain her strength?”

“How are you so fucking stupid?” Aloween spat, entirely ignoring his jeer. She stomped towards him and threw the papers at his face. “I’m out for a little more than a month and you just what? Stop caring? Your precious, fucking consul just drove Vesuvius into almost as much debt as we’ve spent the last few months escaping. And on such ridiculous things! Golden goose, new battle axes, caskets upon caskets of wine. Worm food? Cadavers?! I get that you like the Masquerade and that you feel like the world owes you a huge celebration for your birthday, but one day, someone’s going to kill you for it! This is now how a ruler works.” Her eyes were large in disbelief and anger but also pity and frustration.

Lucio’s body felt hot, a combination of anger, indignation but also embarrassment and shame. He roughly jerked his head at the doctor, who scurried out of the room immediately. Lucio pushed himself out of his plug chair and walked towards her until they were chest to chest. Even though she was forced to look up to meet his eyes, why did he feel like the inferior one? Her mouth twisted, but her eyes stayed unwaveringly defiant.

“Melchior and Mercedes really missed you.”

Code for:  _ I  _ missed you but I’m too prideful to admit it. Instantly, Aloween’s body deflated and she felt utterly exhausted. A headache was pushing on her head and she swayed on her feet. Lucio gently led her to the chair he had been occupied, kneeling by her side. Hesitantly, his golden hand pushed away a piece of hair that had fallen into her face. He gulped.

“When you were asleep, I realized that I don’t know what I’m doing.” She gave him a look and he rolled his eyes. “Maybe I never did. I was always meant to ascend a throne, to bask the glory of a magnificent and powerful kingdom, be adored by my citizens…but I don't know how to run one. I was lost.”

He looked so vulnerable, kneeling at her side, that she was tempted to tease him but this was too serious a topic. She let a hand fall to his hair, instead, gently rubbing her fingers over a strand. He didn’t jerk away like she had expected him to, so she continued to sooth over it.

“I’ve never seen hair this color before. Even in the South everyone I met was brown or reddish. There was once a country, I don’t remember, that I visited while traveling with my father. They believed that those with fair hair and eyes were angels, protectors sent from the gods. Others thought they were demons, meant to seduce and subdue.”

“Which one am I?”

Her hand paused before she untangled her fingers, frowning. “I don’t know.” Aloween leaned back into the chair, stretching out her legs. There was a restlessness to her posture, twitching every few seconds. “Lucio, let’s go into the woods. Let’s hunt.”

The grin that overtook his face almost made her heart stutter. He offered his claw and pulled her up into his chest. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said before dragging her through the Palace, an energetic bounce to his step. A piercing whistle had four pairs of claws clicking on the tile as Mercedes and Melchior raced toward their master like white-feathered arrows. Aloween barely had time to catch her breath before they were already in the royal armory and stables, Lucio commanding the hands to prepare both himself and Aloween a bow. A single horse, he said, brushing off he raised an eyebrow directed toward him.

“Jules said you had to rest, no excessive strain.”

“Like hunting isn’t already going against that,” she snorted. He only shrugged and quickly shouldered his bow, tossing hers into her waiting hands. Their quivers he tied to the saddle of the great beast of a horse he saddled with ease. He offered her a hand and jolted her, carefully, behind him. He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine her pursed lips and exacerbated look. Nonetheless, her hands crawled around his stomach. He stiffened with the touch. Interesting. His stomach rumbles with something that wasn’t hunger or discomfort - something he hadn’t felt with anyone else. 

Lucio whipped the reigns, and the two sped off to the woods with the hounds trailing shortly behind. He only stopped once they were good and lost in the deep forest. The thick leaves blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving them in the shadows. He helped Aloween down despite her protests and untied their quivers. She yanked it from his hands and swung it over her back. She drew an arrow and cocked it in her bow, keeping the string loose.

“You know, the last time I went hunting here was when I shot off the tip of Melchior’s ear,” she noted. In fact, that had simply been the last time she’d hunted. Gods, had it really been that long?

“You’re not out of practice are you?” Lucio challenged, drawing his own bow.

She scoffed. “Not at all. I'm worried about you. How long has it been since you’ve hunted in the dark? From what I’ve heard and seen, you like to spend the night hours warm between your sheets.”

“Ha! You think this is dark?”

“No, but with your poor eyesight, it might as well be. When was the last time you actually opened them wide enough to see something more than ten feet in front of you?” She flashed him a foxy, sharp-toothed grin. He gasped.

“I was the prince of the South! I could shoot a sparrow thirty feet from me…at night, too!”

“Is that a challenge, Count?”

For some reason the way she said his title sent a tingle down his spine. He flexed both hands and whistled for the dogs once more. In an instant, they were at his heels, waiting obediently but anxiously. 

“Whoever’s dog gets the most game before the afternoon bell wins.”

“And who gets who?”

“I get Mercedes. You get Melchior.” Lucio grinned at the slight paling of her face. It should be interesting to see how Melchior reacts. Sure they’d gotten along much better once she became his mercenary but he also believed that the hound never quite forgot what she’d done. The two had a small stare-down before she jerked her head and faded into the trees. Melchior sat still, casting a glance at Lucio, tongue flopping, before he eventually followed. 

Aloween was waiting for the white hound in the bushes, flashing it an apologetic smile right at the beginning. He just stared at her. She pursed her lips and walked quietly forward, listening intently for game in the trees or in the underbrush. In the distance, she could hear what she thought was Mercedes dashing quickly through the bushes. Lucio couldn’t have caught something already? Her eyes hardened and she drew her arrow, letting it fly into the trees. The bird squealed as it fell to the ground and the dog ran like a bullet and caught it in its jaws, racing back to the horse. 

“One to one, Lucio,” she muttered, lining up another shot. 

~~~

Aloween’s teeth were set as she stared at the two piles, the light quickly fading behind them. Her knuckles were white as she glared at the gleeful man next to her. She had three less. Three less! Gods, she felt like whacking him in the stomach with her bow. 

“I hate you,” she growled. He only laughed louder and more obnoxiously.

“I wasn’t the one that recommended we go hunting, my dear,” he jeered. 

She huffed and pulled her hair loose from the tie she’d wrapped it up in. Lucio walked up behind her and grabbed both of her hands, immobilizing her. Aloween’s body went shock still, but he could practically hear her slow beating heart in the quiet woods.

“Sooo,” he drawled, “what’s my prize?”

“Who said anything about a prize? I don’t remember agreeing on anything beforehand.”

Lucio hummed. “Maybe not, but you know I don’t play fair. I want you to come to the Masquerade.”

She frowned and arched her neck to look back at him. “I was already planning on going to the Masquerade…I’m your mercenary.”

He was smiling, but it wasn’t cruel. If anything, it was soft, and she remembered how he had acted before their hunt. It was almost tender, distinctively un-Lucio like. Her stomach sank and twisted uneasily.

“I want you to attend as a guest. Dress up, wear something a bit less…covering.”

“Lucio, let go of me.” Her voice was stoney and flat, and, surprised, he did as asked. She swallowed thickly before turning around to face him, brushing off her front. They stared at each other, both imploring each other but each imploring for very different things. 

“I’ll think about it.”

His attitude soured slightly but he nodded, in his head, ignoring the warning bells and taking it as a guarantee. Without another word about it, they gathered their game into sacks tied to the saddle on either side and straddled the horse. They made it back to the castle and dropped off the animals for the cook to use. Aloween tried to sneak back into her room but the dogs blocked her steps before she could even take them. She sneered at them but sighed, climbing the stairs behind Lucio and entering his bedroom. She took the spot at the desk while he lounged on his bed. The air was thick.

“Something’s not right,” he said, serious and solemn. Aloween didn’t glance up. Instead, she let her finger run around the rim of a glass. One of Valerius’, she supposed.

“You’re right,” she admitted, voice light. “Almost dying changes a person.”

“No, not that.”

“Then what?”

He was silent. Neither moved, until he spoke once more. “While you were recovering, I went into your rooms. I saw the pain pills.” 

“I get headaches frequently. I have insomnia,” she brushed off the pills.

“I read your diary, journal, whatever.” He waited for an explanation, watching her freeze and slowly unfreeze. 

“My father and I were nomadic for the parts that count. I didn’t lie,” she defended. “But we used to live somewhere structured. He was a duke, actually, but my mother was not the duchess. No one figured out I was an illegitimate child until I was eight or nine, something like that, when one of the maids compared me to the stablemaid. An uncanny resemblance apparently. Word finally reached the lady of the house, and she didn’t like it all that much and kicked my father out. I don’t blame her, but from what I heard, she had plenty of men besides my father. It doesn’t really matter, though. The three of us had to live off the land - it was a secluded kingdom. It was a bad winter that year, and my mother had a weak body. She died quickly. Then it was just my father and me.”

She looked over to see she had fully captured his attention. “He knew what he had done was stupid - that he let lust get in the way of his duty and that had been the downfall - but he never regretted me. He taught me everything I know, from hunting to politics. He was a good man. But it’s a part of my history, I’d much prefer to ignore. Surely you can understand that feeling,” she slurred the snub.

“I always wondered why you seemed competent. A natural-born noble. I’m glad,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, but it only darkened. Aloween shoved the chair back and stood up. Lucio hastened to get off the bed and to her. However, he paused with his feet on the ground as she turned back, fire in her eyes.

“A title isn’t what makes a person great or good, Lucio. I thought you had realized that from what you said this morning. It shouldn’t matter if I was truly the daughter of nobody or a high king. Time to open your eyes and stop snooping in other people’s lives,  _ Count _ .”

The door slammed behind her, and, for some reason, Lucio felt as if the bridge they both so delicately craft between them was crumbling fast. 


End file.
